The Doctor in Middle Earth
by wickedmetalviking1990
Summary: My promised crossover of Doctor Who and Middle Earth. Swept up on Clara's adventures, the Doctor finds himself seemingly powerless in a world that is on the brink of war. Can the Doctor triumph again or will he, with the TARDIS non-responsive and all of his technology failing him, fall to the might of Sauron? (semi-serious with some humor and parody of certain fan "solutions")
1. Autumn

**(AN: Okay, let's see if my third attempt is more successful than my last two.)**

**(This is, as you might have guessed, a cross-over between _Doctor Who_ and _Lord of the Rings_. It originally started as a non-crossover parody about certain cliches I've seen in _LotR_ writing and critiques of the story/movies by film critics. Then, sometime before I saw "The Name of the Doctor", I decided to bring those to life in a crossover between _Doctor Who_ and _LotR_. Well, here it is, ladies and gentlemen. I don't own any of these things: _Lot__R_ belongs to Tolkien [I borrow more from the book than the movies], and _Doctor Who_ belongs to Mr. Moffat, aka. the BAMF. Anything else I might reference also belong to their respective authors/creators.)**

* * *

**Autumn  
**

A field of corn was the first thing the Doctor and Clara Oswald saw. The Doctor had promised her a fun adventure and away they went in his TARDIS - Time And Relative Dimensions In Space. The next thing they noticed once the TARDIS landed and the Doctor threw open the doors was a field of corn. Clara, that odd little impossible girl, was the first one out of the TARDIS, looking about at everything around them. Behind her walked the Doctor with his long stride, bringing up the rear after her with his chin leading the rest of his body.

"Where are we this time?" Clara asked. Her tone, however, was one of a statement, not a question.

"You'll find out soon enough," the Doctor said. "Although I do suggest we go back inside and change into something a bit more...appropriate."

"Nice try, chin-boy," Clara replied. That was her nickname for the Doctor: chin-boy.

"What?" the Doctor asked, then made a face. "Oh, no, no no no. Not like that. What I mean to say is that we might look a bit out of place here."

"The only one who's out of place is you, Doctor," Clara replied, as though she were commenting on the weather.

The Doctor fought hard to keep his mouth shut and not retort. What she had said was the biggest understatement in the last millennium of his life. The first time the Doctor had encountered this girl, calling herself Oswin Oswald, was on a ship in the Dalek asylum. She had been converted and sacrificed her life so that he and the Ponds could escape. The Ponds, Amy and Rory: just thinking about them made the Doctor's hearts break. But he knew where and what they were: it was this girl, this Clara Oswald, with her big puppy-dog brown eyes and cute upturned nose and seemingly unflappable cool before any situation - not to mention her impossibility - which got the Doctor's attention more than anything.

After the Ponds had been stolen away from him, the Doctor retired to the 19th century in the capital of his favorite Earth country: London. There he hoped to live out the rest of his life in solitude, away from anyone he might hurt. But then Clara appeared again, saving him from the Great Intelligence's "snowmen" before, once again, dying. And then she called him via the TARDIS' phone. There was something in the wifi and once again he came running. There, in early 21st century London, he found her again: Clara Oswald, alive and just as clever as always. It maddened and confounded him, and that enough was beyond frustrating: the Doctor was a Timelord, the last of the Timelords. He was so clever he could accomplish advanced Earth trigonometry in his sleep, and yet this twenty-something Earth girl with her big, puppy-dog brown eyes, cute upturned nose and unflappable cool before nervous situations confounded him above all else. Who was she? What was she? And more importantly, how was she possible?

Once they had solved the mystery of the alien wifi, the Doctor invited Clara to journey the stars with him. Eventually she said yes and, after Akhaten, the Soviet missile sub, the Caliburn House, Tamriel and Jupiter, they were now coming somewhere else entirely, somewhere the Doctor had not visited in a long span of years.

"Is this Earth?" Clara asked.

"You could say that," the Doctor evaded.

"Sure looks like Earth," she said, examining the corn and the dirt beneath her shoes. She sniffed the air. "Smells like autumn."

"You can tell that just by sniffing?" the Doctor asked.

"Sure," she replied. "Autumn has a certain kind of smell, doesn't it?"

The Doctor sniffed the air. "Yes, of course it does."

There was a slight chill in the air, but nothing they were not prepared for in any case. The Doctor wore his usual suit, a dark shade of violet in homage to those whom he had lost, with a dark bow-tie sitting jauntily upon his neck ("Bow-ties are cool", he would often say): even so, Gallifrey had some cold parts and the Ood sphere he had taken Donna Noble to after Pompeii was rather chilly as well. Clara, meanwhile, wore a black leather jacket over a blue blouse and skirt one-piece with black stocking. Needless to say, unless a sudden snowstorm hit them, they were going to be fine.

"I think we should get out of this field," the Doctor spoke up. "I think...

"...because it's someone's field, right," Clara finished. "Come on then, chin-boy."

Clara began walking towards the end of the field with the Doctor walking off after her. For someone with a smaller stride than he, Clara could cover ground very quickly at a walking pace. In these instances, the Doctor felt very much like one of his many companions. He made a mental note, however, to tell his previous incarnation, if he met him again like on Jupiter, that the neck-tie was a bad choice. One, it wasn't cool and two, it could be grabbed and he could be dragged about by his neck: quite uncomfortable.

Just then, at the end of the field, the Doctor heard Clara exclaim: "No...way!"

He burst out next to her and saw that she was looking with wonder at what lay before them, a look of surprise and wonder on her face like he had never before seen. Before them lay a wide green country of rolling hills and oceans of green grass. Tall trees dotted some of the landscape and in the midst there wound a dirt and cobblestone path. Built into the side of those hills were small doors and windows and before and around those were many gardens and beyond and further about were fields and pasture-land.

"Doctor, this...this is the Shire!" she stated.

"Hobbiton, to be precise," the Doctor added. "Westfarthing, I believe. We've arrived just in time."

* * *

**(AN: I guess that's as much as we can do for now.)**

**(When I started watching seasons 5 and 6 of _Doctor Who_, I found the Eleventh Doctor [this one] to be rather silly. However, as I started going into the current season where, as I said in the story, it's becoming more like the adventures of Clara Oswald and the Doctor is her companion and "damsel in distress" [he even admitted in "The Name of the Doctor" that she saves him more times than he has saved her], I started growing closer to him. Also, as his time is coming to an end, I thought I'd make a story that was completely him, no extra Doctors and such. Just a fun, semi-serious adventure with the Doctor and his companion.)**

**(Jupiter and Tamriel are two ideas that I'm working on. The first is about the first manned space-station around a gas giant [more of a sci-fi thriller than an adventure story], and the second is the Doctor and Clara in Tamriel from the _Elder Scrolls_ series. I'm sure they went on more adventures, but those were two ideas of mine that I wanted to state for any who might be interested in seeing them.)**


	2. Many Meetings

**(AN: I haven't even gotten into the story yet and already people are interested. Wow, at least I'll have something to take the monotony off _The Dragonborn and the Lioness _and give me a reason to come back here and update.)**

* * *

**Many Meetings  
**

"Are you serious?" Clara asked. "This is the Shire? _The_ Shire?"

"I'm hardly ever serious," the Doctor replied. "But this _is_ the Shire." He noticed a smile creeping onto her face and smiled in return. "Do you like it?"

"Like it?" Clara laughed. "I remember watching the movies back when they came out! I had the biggest crush on Orlando Bloom!"

"Oh, that," the Doctor grimaced.

"Oh, but it's okay," she replied. "I thought the Hobbits were cute as well." She squealed. "You mean we can find Hobbits here?"

"Well, this _is_ the Shire, after all," the Doctor replied.

"Right," Clara said, turning back to the view of Hobbiton. "Now, where exactly are we?"

Just then, there was a rustling heard and an elderly Hobbit came walking through the corn-field from the other side.

"Oi!" he shouted. "What are you two on about, stomping through my corn-field? Clear off, then!"

Clara grabbed the Doctor's hand and ran out of the corn-field, down the hill and into one of the lanes of Hobbiton before the Doctor could speak a word. Once down, the Doctor spun about, pulled his sonic screwdriver out of his pocket and sent a whirring noise in the direction of the TARDIS.

"There we go," he said. "TARDIS is locked, should be safe for now."

"Right, what part of the story are we at, exactly?" Clara asked.

"What?" the Doctor replied.

"I mean, has Frodo left already?" she asked again.

"Well, why don't you ask?" the Doctor returned. "Very nice people, Shire-folk. A bit uppity at times, but it's because they don't like change. They don't keep many secrets, just the usual stuff: gardening tips, special brews, the best earth, time and tending needed to grow the best crop of potatoes, that sort of thing."

"Hang on a minute," Clara spoke up. "I remember someone on the Internet saying something about this."

"About what, potatoes in the Shire?" the Doctor asked. "Don't listen to them. You see, this land, Eriador, where the Shire is located, used to be ruled by Men: the people of Numenor, they named this place Arnor. They brought a good deal of their goods with them when they settled here: pipe-weed, kingsfoil and a splendid crop of potatoes, tomatoes and corn. Of course, the Kingdom of Arnor has been gone for almost a thousand years, so the Hobbits naturally think they discovered these things."

The Doctor noticed, however, that Clara was not listening but had approached a jolly-faced Hobbit with a sack hanging from a strap on his shoulder.

"Excuse me," she began. "Do you know where I could find Frodo..."

"Baggins?" the Hobbit replied. "Outsider, eh? Well, it's no wonder, what with all those adventures Old Mad Bilbo Baggins used to have. Too much Tookish blood, as my granddad says. Anyhow, you'll be wanting Bag End, at the end of Bagshot Row, though I warrant it won't be long now. Mr. Frodo Baggins is leaving Bag End."

"He's leaving?" she asked in surprise.

"It's the talk of the Shire!" the post-man said. "Mr. Frodo Baggins is selling Bag End to the Sackville-Bagginses and moving to Crickhollow in Buckland. Long ways down the East Road. There's been a right good traffic of wains bearing goods been going that way these past few days. You outta hurry, lady, or dear Mr. Baggins will be gone before you arrive. Now, if you don't mind, I've got a few more letters to deliver this day."

"Wait, where is Bagshot Row?" Clara asked.

"Just go straight from here," the Hobbit post-man. "Then take a right. Shouldn't be hard to find, it's at the top of the Hill." Then with a wave, the Hobbit walked off down the lane, whistling merrily as he went.

"Are you coming?" Clara asked, turning to the Doctor.

"Oh yes, right away," the Doctor replied, jogging to keep up with her. Once again he marveled that she could out-walk his long stride.

"Something doesn't make sense, though," Clara said. "How did the postman know that Frodo is leaving? And why Crickhollow?"

"Because that's what happened," the Doctor said.

"No," she replied. "No, I distinctly remember. Gandalf came at night and told Frodo that he had to leave for Bree, and then he and Sam left in the morning. Nobody knew they were going."

"Of course they did!" the Doctor exclaimed. "Haven't you read the books?"

"Who has time for that?" she replied. "They're over a thousand pages long."

"Still, it would do a lot of good to do a bit of reading," the Doctor said. "I wouldn't have to answer so many silly questions. Not that I don't mind answering silly questions."

But Clara was no longer listening. He jogged on after her, down the lane and to the right, where they came to the house as described: Bag End. Clara stepped over the picket fence, which was barely two feet high, and walked up to the door. The Doctor, meanwhile, knelt down and opened the gate, before walking up after her. She knocked on the green door with the brass knob.

"Who's there?" a voice asked.

"I'm the Doctor!" the Doctor interjected. "I'm a friend of Gandalf, could you let us in please?"

The door opened and a young-looking Hobbit greeted them. He had curly hair, like all the Hobbits they had seen, and his feet were bare and covered with brown, curly hair, like the kind on his head. He wore green trousers and a white shirt with a brown vest.

"Mr. Baggins, I presume?" the Doctor asked.

"Yes," Frodo replied. "Uh, pardon me, please. Come inside."

"Thank you," the Doctor said as he bent over and made his way into Bag End. Clara then walked in after him.

"Clara," the Doctor began. "This is Frodo Baggins. Frodo, Clara Oswald."

"It's nice to meet you," Frodo said.

"Likewise," she replied.

"Would you like anything to eat?" Frodo asked. "I'm sorry that there's not a great store here. I'm somewhat in the process of moving."

"Yes, so we've heard," Clara said.

"You don't happen to have custard, do you?" the Doctor asked. "Or maybe a jammy dodger?"

"I think there might be a crumpet or two left," Frodo said, taking off down the main hallway towards the pantry. "What about something to drink, then? I have some tea on the brew, and there should still be a barrel of beer in the back pantry."

"I'll have tea," Clara said.

"I'm good, thank you," the Doctor replied. "Do you have any chairs or...stools we could sit on?"

"No," Frodo called from the pantry. "All that's been sent off to Crickhollow."

"You certainly have made quite a spectacle about it," Clara spoke up.

"About what?" Frodo asked, appearing again with a plate with two crumpets and a cup of tea.

"Your leaving," she continued, taking the cup from the plate. "Doesn't seem like a wise idea, does it?"

"Uh, Doctor..." Frodo spoke up.

"Hmm?" the Doctor asked, biting into one of the crumpets.

"You said you're a friend of Gandalf?"

"Yes," the Doctor nodded.

"Do you know when he'll be here?" Frodo asked.

"I thought he would meet you at the..." Clara began, but the Doctor put his finger to his lips and shushed her. "Don't shush me!" she retorted.

"What?" Frodo asked.

"He told you that he was coming here?" Clara asked.

"Yes, of course," Frodo returned. "At least by our birthday, which is today and there hasn't been any sign of him."

"'Our birthday?'" Clara asked.

"Mine and my uncle's," Frodo replied. "Bless him, dear old Bilbo. He's a hundred and twenty-eight by today."

"I thought he was a hundred and eleven," Clara spoke up.

"That was seventeen years ago," Frodo said. "And before your time, it would seem."

"I'm almost twenty!" Clara replied. "And you, you don't exactly look old yourself."

Frodo laughed. "You've been around the Green Dragon, I hear. Yes, the good people of Hobbiton have noticed that. They've been calling me 'well-preserved' or just 'lucky'. I'm not sure why, though. I'm not much older than Bilbo was when he set out on his adventures."

"So, when was the last time you saw him?" Clara asked.

"At his one hundred and eleventh birthday, seventeen years ago today," Frodo said.

"Seventeen years!" Clara exclaimed. "You mean to tell me you've been living comfortably here for seventeen years?"

"More or less, yes," Frodo replied. "I can tell from your voice that this news troubles you. Is there any reason that should trouble you?"

"What about the Ring?" Clara asked.

Suddenly, Frodo took a step back and glanced over them with careful expressions. Clara looked back at the Doctor, who shook his head, then turned back to Frodo.

"There's no need to worry, Frodo," the Doctor said. "We know about your secret. We've heard about it from Gandalf."

"And we're here to help you," Clara added.

"We are?" the Doctor asked, looking over at her.

"Of course we are," Clara said, then turned to Frodo. "So come on, then. Tell us: why haven't you left yet?"

"First I would know a little bit more about you," Frodo said, suddenly becoming wary.

"I hear that," the Doctor said under his breath.

"You as well, Doctor," Frodo said. "Gandalf never mentioned you, nor did Bilbo."

"Well of course they wouldn't," the Doctor replied. "Bilbo only met me once in Rivendell, and it was for a few moments. I shared with him the story of Beren and Luthien. I didn't leave that much of a lasting impression, though, because he never put me in his book. Which surprised me, I usually leave quite a dent in everybody's life."

"What about Gandalf?" Frodo asked.

"I knew him a bit more closely," the Doctor continued. "There was...oh wait, he told me not to mention that. But I did help him escape from Carn Dum, he said he owed me a favor for that."

"And what about you?" Frodo asked, turning to Clara.

"What he said," she replied.

"I think I remember a bit about the history of the Dunedain from what uncle Bilbo told me," Frodo said. "And the Kingdom of Carn Dum fell over a thousand years ago. There's no way you could have been there, nor you, Doctor. Are you Elvish? You certainly have an Elvish air about yourself, Doctor."

"That's quite possible," the Doctor said. "As I recall, Elves are quite long-lived. Almost as long as Timelords, just without the whole regeneration thingy."

"What?"

"Regeneration," the Doctor said. "At the end of one life, our bodies undergo a transformation into another kind. Think of a butterfly, no wait, _don'__t_ think of a butterfly, it's not like a butterfly. Okay, maybe it _is_ a little like a butterfly but only vaguely."

"Are you alright, Doctor?" Frodo asked. "You sound a little bit..."

"Scatter-brained?" Clara asked. "Daft? Mental? Like his trolley's run off the tracks?"

"My trolley hasn't gone anywhere!" the Doctor replied. "Nevertheless, Frodo!" He turned back to the Hobbit. "Are you satisfied?"

"Hardly," Frodo said, then turned to Clara. "You haven't said anything about yourself, Clara."

"There's not much to tell," Clara replied. The Doctor, meanwhile, practically shoved his fist into his mouth to keep from laughing. "Grew up in a nice little neighborhood, lived with my dad. Fish n chips, souffle. Usual stuff. Come on, now. Out with it."

"No," Frodo stated, stepping back once again.

"This isn't a good idea," the Doctor whispered, his fist out of his mouth.

"Frodo, listen to me," Clara said. "I'm on your side. I was sent to help you, but you have to trust me. Bring it out."

"This _really_ isn't a good idea," the Doctor added.

"Trust me, Frodo," Clara continued. "Some horrible things are going to happen to you unless you do exactly as I say. Right, bring it out."

Slowly, Frodo reached into his coat pocket and, with a trembling hand, pulled out a tiny golden ring. For a moment of profound silence, all of them stared at the tiny golden ring in Frodo's hands. Slowly, realizing that something was wrong, Frodo returned the Ring into his pocket.

"Doctor, what just happened?" Clara asked. "Something just...happened. Doctor?" But when she had turned around, the Doctor had vanished.

* * *

**(AN: Yeah, what _did_ just happen? Well, we'll find out in the next chapter, "Shadow of the Past.")**

**(Please go ahead and review, say something, anything. Even if it's to respond to my statements that the current season is the Adventures of Clara Oswald and the Doctor is her unwitting companion?)**

**(Also, in case you were wondering, this will be book-verse, so Frodo is going to be more mature [and less Gary Stu-ish], Aragorn won't doubt himself, Legolas won't be Captain Obvious, Arwen won't be a warrior-princess and [if we ever get that far] Faramir won't be a douche-bag. Also I will follow the plot-line of the books.)**


	3. Shadow of the Past

**(AN: There is a point where you might ask me "why did you put that since it makes Frodo seem weak and immature?" Well, Tolkien pretty much had Frodo say a line similar to this in the book, so it's not really weakness or immaturity, just typical Hobbit naivete.)**

* * *

**Shadow of the Past**

Clara found the Doctor outside of Bag End, pacing in the garden.

"Doctor?" she asked, approaching him. "What's wrong?"

"That was a foolish move, Clara," the Doctor said.

"Don't lecture me!" she retorted. "I'm not some child you can just slap on the wrist."

"Of course not, you're human!" the Doctor replied. "You do things with the best intentions yet with such short-sightedness. It was a foolish thing, what you did, asking to see the Ring."

"Why not?" Clara asked.

"Don't you know anything about the Ring?" the Doctor asked. "It was made by Sauron to rule all the races of Middle Earth."

"Right, but we're not from Middle Earth," Clara replied.

"Now you're just being stupid," the Doctor stated. To this, Clara slapped him across his protruding chin. "Ow! What was that for?"

"Calling me stupid," she replied.

"I didn't call you stupid, I said you were _being_ stupid at that point," the Doctor continued. "_This_ is Earth, as you know it, well, maybe _not_ as you know it, but some form of the Earth you know. Far distant past, I'd say about a good eight millennia before Sumeria."

"So?" Clara asked.

"So, you can't just ask Frodo for the Ring!" the Doctor exclaimed. "It would destroy you."

"I'll take my chances," she replied.

"Look, Clara," the Doctor began. "I know you're...headstrong, but now is neither the time nor the place."

"Alright, you clever boy," Clara replied, crossing her arms. "You tell me, what's your solution?"

"Solution?"

"Don't tell me you know what's going to happen but will actually _let_ it happen?" Clara asked bewildered. "If anyone's stupid, it's Gandalf. I mean, yes, I know that the Ring is dangerous and that it should be destroyed. So why make Frodo go on a dangerous walk through Middle Earth instead of just having him fly the Ring over Mount Doom?"

"Oh, give me a break!" the Doctor replied.

"Even better and closer at hand," Clara said. "We've got the TARDIS, we can just fly over there or warp over there, or however your TARDIS flies, open the doors and drop the Ring into the fires of Mount Doom."

"First of all, that's not going to work!" the Doctor exclaimed.

"Why not?" Clara asked.

"Well, for one, you're never going to convince Frodo to hand over the Ring to you," the Doctor said. "Don't you remember what happened when he brought it out?"

There was silence for a space, broken only by the tweeting of a blue-bird sitting on one of the posts of the garden fence nearby.

"Exactly," the Doctor replied to her unspoken question. "I had to leave the room because of it."

"Why, though?" she asked. "I mean, what happened? All I remember was a voice speaking, well, not so much of a voice but a kind of inclination. You know, like women's intuition? Some sort of urge, a knowledge that..." She paused, realizing that her breath had quickened in pace.

"That you could bring them back, right?" the Doctor asked. "Your mother and father."

"Exactly," she replied grimly. "But...I mean, that's rubbish, right? Rings can't talk. They just don't."

"I've seen stranger things," the Doctor said.

"What did it say to you, Doctor?" Clara asked.

The Doctor did not reply. He merely grimaced at Clara, then crossed his arms and continued pacing in the garden.

"Still," she spoke up. "We can at least ask Frodo to come with us and then we'll fly the Ring over Mount Doom and drop it in that way." Without another word, she darted back into Bag End and came out a few moments ago with Frodo.

"I'll tell you everything on the way," she said. "But right now you have to trust us. We're here to help you."

"I'm not entirely certain of your intentions," Frodo said.

"Listen, your...uh...Gandalf! He told us about what you were going through, about the Ring and all," Clara began. "He said that you were afraid and yet knew that it had to be gotten rid of."

"Yes," Frodo said. "That much is true. I wish it were gotten rid of, but it seems that it has been my doom to keep it safe."

"Well, we're your solution," she said. "Come with me." She then turned to the Doctor. "You too, chin boy." Then set off down Bagshot Row towards where the TARDIS was parked. The Doctor, meanwhile, hovered by her left-shoulder like a little cartoon devil on one's shoulder.

"I'm not too keen on this lying business," the Doctor whispered.

"You do it all the time," Clara said. "You even lied to him about Gandalf."

"That's not true!" the Doctor returned. "I really _did_ help him escape from Carn Dum. It was a long time ago, before he met Bilbo. He doesn't like to talk about it, but I might be able to persuade him!"

At last, they made their way through the corn-field and were standing before the TARDIS. Frodo marveled upon it while Clara walked up to the door and started pulling on the handle. It didn't budge. She pulled and pulled again, then pounded on the door with her fist. Still no response.

"It doesn't look very big," Frodo said, examining it.

"It's bigger on the inside!" Clara and the Doctor said in unison.

"What is it?" he asked.

"A ship of sorts," the Doctor said. "Except it flies in the stars."

"Like Earendil?" Frodo asked. "Bilbo told me a song about Earendil the Mariner, who was put in the sky in a ship that bore the day-star."

"It's nothing like that at all," the Doctor replied with a shake of his head.

"Doctor?" Clara asked. "The door won't open."

"It won't?" he asked.

"Didn't you lock it before we left?" she asked. "Well, go on then: unlock it."

The Doctor pulled out his sonic screwdriver and aimed it at the doors of the TARDIS. Once again, Clara pulled on the doors but they refused to open.

"Come on!" she cried in frustration at the TARDIS. "This is no time to be b*tchy!"

"Watch your language, Clara," the Doctor replied. "It has feelings."

"You speak of it as though it were a person," Frodo exclaimed with a chuckle.

"Actually, funny story about that..." the Doctor began, remembering fondly when he met a living incarnation of the TARDIS on the House world beyond the universe.

"Open up!" Clara cried, banging loudly on the door. At last she groaned in frustration, crossing her arms as she turned to Frodo and the Doctor.

"Well, don't just stand there, chin boy!" she retorted. "Open it up!"

"Right," the Doctor leaped to his feet and ran to the TARDIS. "Come on, old girl. Let's humor her just this once, eh?" He pulled on the handle, but it did not open. He pushed on the door, but it did not open. He reached into one of his pockets and pulled out his sonic screwdriver. He flashed it at the door, then pulled again: nothing. He changed the setting to red, flashed it again, then pulled on the door. He made the screwdriver make a noise like a car's alarm, but the doors remained shut. Finally he snapped his fingers at the door at least three times, but it made no response whatsoever.

Suddenly the TARDIS came to life and vanished before their eyes. Clara turned to the Doctor in frustration.

"What just happened?" she asked.

"The TARDIS left us," the Doctor said. "Hostile Action Displacement System, possibly. Like the Russian submarine in 1983."

"Well, that's just convenient, isn't it?" she replied. "And what hostile action did it..."

"Shh!" the Doctor hissed.

"Don't shh me, chin boy!" she replied. But the Doctor threw his hands over Clara's mouth. Just beyond the stalks of the corn-field they could see, riding up towards Bag End, a black horse carrying a rider clad all in black.

"I think we should run," Clara said.

"I agree," the Doctor added.

"No!" Frodo whispered.

"No?" both Clara and the Doctor asked as one.

"I'm not entirely sure about this one," the Hobbit said. "It looks like one of the Big Folk, meaning your people, begging your pardon."

"'My people?'" the Doctor asked. "Excuse me, but while she may look Timelord, I am the real, genuine thing."

"Shh!" Clara hissed.

"Still," Frodo said. "I'm not sure what we should do just now. If we run and that thing is after us, it wouldn't take it long to overtake us: we're on foot, he's on a full-grown horse."

"We have to leave, though," the Doctor reminded them.

"I can't," Frodo replied. "Not without Sam and Pippin. They said they'd accompany me as far as Crickhollow."

"Wait, Pippin?" Clara asked. "He's going with you?"

"Yes, of course!" Frodo stated, then sighed. "Though I wish he wouldn't. It would be hard enough to try to convince Sam to stay once I arrive in Crickhollow, still..." He turned to the Doctor and Clara. "...if you know about my burden, then you know that I must do this."

"Right," the Doctor nodded. "Look! He's going!"

Just beyond the corn-stalks, they could see the black shape galloping off down Bagshot Row and into the gathering darkness. Frodo was the first one up on his feet and walked down the hill and towards Bagshot Row once the black rider was fully out of sight.

* * *

**(AN: Update! The good thing about discovering a talent for lyric writing is that you can now express yourself: the bad thing is that your ffs tend to suffer. Oh well, here's a new chapter for you to enjoy. What do you think? Anything you want to say/ask or such? Please, I welcome your reviews.)  
**


	4. Five is Company

**(AN: Praise the latest, first number 1 _Black Sabbath_ album and everyone hates you for not ripping it a new one. Lol, at least I have this story to fall back on [lol])**

**(By "Middle Earth", I didn't mean just the lands between Eriador, Rhovanion, Gondor and Mordor, but the whole of it: Arda. Yes, the lands I mentioned are Europe, but there are Haradwaith and Rhun and the lands beyond those, so yeah, it's not just Europe.)**

* * *

**Five is Company  
**

Frodo, Clara and the Doctor arrived at the door of Bag End shortly, where they were then met with by two other Hobbits. Frodo introduced them as Peregrin Took, whom he had previously named as Pippin, and his servant and gardener Samwise Gamgee, also called Sam. Sam, who had gone to his gaffer's hole at Number Three Bag-Shot Row to deliver the key to Bag End, told them about the black rider. Apparently, he had come there in search of 'Baggins.' He got very little out of Sam's old gaffer than that Frodo had gone to Crickhollow, which, obviously, was no secret.

Frodo sighed at this. "I wish I had spoken to him," he said. "I'm tired of my doings being known throughout the Shire."

"That's not a good idea, Frodo," Clara said.

"Why?" Pippin asked. "Do you know where he's from?"

"I do," the Doctor said. "They're from Mordor."

"Mordor?" Frodo asked. "They're servants of the Enemy?"

"Yes," the Doctor replied. "Didn't Gandalf tell you about them?"

"He didn't say anything about black riders," Frodo replied, shaking his head.

"Perhaps you recall them by a different word," the Doctor continued. "Ringwraiths. The black riders are Ringwraiths, bound to the Dark Lord of Mordor. They seek the Ring."

Frodo seemed at first off-put by this revelation, as though he should have known better, having been told of this danger already and yet so easily forgot.

"I haven't even left the Shire and already danger is at my very doorstep!" he said at last.

"Well, of course," the Doctor said. "Danger isn't considerate about what you call safe or not."

"But...but..." sputtered Pippin. "But this is the Shire! Nothing bad has happened here since the Fell Winter of 1311! And nobody living can remember that, except for Bilbo, maybe."

"Oh, but bad things will happen," the Doctor continued. "And they will continue to happen..." He looked at Frodo.

"You're right," the Hobbit said. "We must leave, now." He turned to Sam and Pippin. "I would advise you two to stay here, as it seems that danger has befallen us before we have even left Hobbiton."

"You're never gonna win this, Frodo," Clara said.

"Now, Mr. Frodo," Sam spoke up. "We're coming with you and that's that." He looked at Pippin, who winked at him, then turned back to Frodo. "I said I'd move in with you and take care of your new house in Crickhollow, and that's what I intend to do."

"Still, though," Pippin spoke up. "You shouldn't have turned down Merry's offer to go there by cart."

"What?" Clara asked. "You mean you had the chance to get out of the Shire by the fastest route and you didn't choose it?"

"No!" Frodo exclaimed. But it was too late, she had already said too much. Strangely enough, however, the looks on the faces of the other two Hobbits were not ones of surprise. Frodo turned to the others.

"Well," Sam spoke up. "Gandalf _did_ say take those as you can trust."

"What?" Frodo asked. "You knew about this, Pippin?"

"Did you really think you were _that_ clever?" the younger Hobbit asked. "Always walking about muttering 'Will I ever see these valleys again?' But, if the truth be told, it wasn't you who let out the secret: it was old Bilbo."

"It was?" Frodo inquried.

"Merry can tell you all about it when we get to Crickhollow," Pippin said.

"Crickhollow?" Clara asked. "If you know already, then why waste the time to keep up appearances?"

"Clara, I really don't think this is the proper time," the Doctor interjected.

"Nor is it for them to be discussing this!" she hissed back at him. "We just saw a Black Rider riding up Bag-Shot Row, and they want to sit here and talk about some kind of conspiracy?"

"But this _is_ important to them," the Doctor said. "What, you really didn't think Merry and Pippin just stumbled upon Frodo and Sam in a corn-field somewhere and decided to go with them?"

"Yeah, that's how it's supposed to go," Clara said. "None of this makes sense."

The Doctor bit his tongue again, as Clara herself made no sense at all. "Still, I am here. And while I'm no Elf, I might be able to keep those Black Riders at bay long enough. And just let them have their little pow-wow: that's how Hobbits are like. They'll sit on the edge of oblivion and discuss the little doings of their ancestors to the tenth degree: reminds me of you humans, sometimes." He laughed, but ruefully as the memory of Donna Noble came into his mind for a brief moment.

"Still, we _should_ go!" Clara whispered.

"Right," the Doctor said, then turned to the Hobbits. "Okay, sorry to break up the little chat, but there are Black Riders in the Shire and we should really be going."

"Which way?" Frodo asked. "They'll be watching the East Road."

"Can't you cross country easily enough?" Clara asked.

"That would be a bad idea," Pippin interjected. "Short-cuts make long delays."

"I thought you liked short-cuts," Clara retorted. "So long as they led to mushrooms."

"Any Hobbit loves mushrooms," Pippin said, with a wistful smile for a few moments, then it fell as he remembered that they had none.

"Which way, which way?" the Doctor asked. "Excuse me? I'm the Doctor! Running is what I'm good at!"

"Still," Pippin spoke up. "We should stop at Crickhollow first, try to make sure Merry and Fatty know we've not gotten lost."

"Alright, Buckland it is, then," the Doctor said. "Follow me!"

* * *

It was well into the night when they set off, packs upon their backs and the Doctor leading the way. He put his sonic screwdriver on power-saving mode and used its light to guide them, but kept it dim at Frodo's insistence. Though the Doctor and Clara were the ones at the head, they would have to pause and wait for the shorter strides of the Hobbits following on behind them. So they went for many, many long hours into darkness with the Doctor refusing to pause for a halt.

"It's still many miles to the Ferry," Pippin said. "We'll never reach Crickhollow before morning."

"Yes," the Doctor said. "But we will be much farther along our way if we don't pause and just keep running."

"I don't like the sound of that," Pippin commented ruefully.

"I could go on a bit more," Sam stated. "I can carry gear for two to make the goings faster."

"I think I agree with Pippin," Clara uncharacteristically groaned.

The Doctor halted, then walked over to where Clara was at the back of the group. She had gone from striding next to him to walking on behind Pippin, who was at the rear. She also was half-way bent over, her hand on her lower abdomen just above her navel.

"Clara?" the Doctor asked. "What's wrong? You've never been like this."

"I wish I could say that's true," she replied venomously.

"What was that for?" he asked, taken aback.

"Oh, what do you know?" she replied. "You're a bloke, you don't have to deal with this."

"What's happening?" Pippin asked.

"Lady stuff," the Doctor said to Pippin. "Happens once a month." He turned back to Clara. "Listen, it's okay. We'll rest for the night."

"Finally!" Pippin exclaimed.

"I don't want to put anyone in danger," Clara groaned as she sat down, throwing her palms against her face.

"It's alright," the Doctor said in almost a whisper. "You and your biological functions, you're so brave and so strong. These things happen, we just have to adapt."

"Please, don't coddle me, Doctor," Clara retorted. "It's very demeaning."

"Oh, sorry," the Doctor replied, seeming a little taken back. Around him, he saw the Hobbits looking for places to sleep for the night. He didn't need to sleep so, naturally, he elected himself to be the first watch. For a moment, his thoughts wandered to his previous companions and when they had first done their 'lady stuff' while traveling with him. Grace Holloway and Martha Jones were both doctors and so took it more in-stride, though it did make running all the more difficult. With Rose it had happened in 14th century London during a jousting tourney which he had taken her to witness. It was quite an ordeal, since not only did they have to find means to keep her from spoiling her clothes, but doing so in Medieval London with the most unsanitary of cloth available. Amy and Donna both got more irate, but it was worse: for Amy, she usually had Rory with her to diffuse some of her frustration out on. When it hit Donna, she was on Jupiter-1, a cramped observation post orbiting the gas giant Jupiter, and there was literally nowhere to go (the TARDIS had mysteriously disappeared). But Clara...

Another layer was added to the mystery that was Clara. The Doctor looked upon her for a moment, as she was trying to curl up into a semi-comfortable position for sleep. She always seemed on top of every situation in which she had landed. From what he had learned about her history - or at least the history of the Clara Oswald in whose company he now stood - she had 'blown into this world on a leaf', yet sometimes she seemed more sturdy and grounded than he, the Doctor. Even faced with something that would have made even the staunchest of his companions beg for a halt, she seemed unwilling to accept his help. Was it pride? Pride he could understand: humans could be so proud sometimes, arrogant even. They believed, falsely, that the universe revolved around them and, truthfully, that their ideas of how the universe began were true. But she wasn't arrogant, and proud? Well, she certainly didn't strike him as proud.

These and many other thoughts buzzed through the Doctor's mind as he paced the night vigil of the Hobbits and the Impossible Girl. No sound was heard save the song of birds and the howling of animals in the distance.

* * *

In the morning, the Doctor woke them all up and told them to set out without washing up or having anything to eat. Pippin complained, but not overmuch. Once everyone was up, they went on their way. The going was much slower than before and it seemed that if they were being pursued, it would not take much for the Black Riders to catch up to them.

"It's hard to believe," Frodo stated. "All of this happening in our Shire, within a stone's throw, it seems, from Hobbiton!"

"This would not be a problem," Clara said. "If the TARDIS hadn't shut itself up like it did."

"Don't worry, though," the Doctor replied. "We've been through worse."

"Oh, really?" she asked. "How worse?"

"Well," the Doctor began. "There was this one time I thought I had lost her for good. I was on this planet hovering inside a black hole's event horizon."

"How is that possible?" Clara asked. "I mean, I know it's been a long time since uni, but I'm pretty sure that's impossible."

"Oh, it is," the Doctor continued, fighting the urge to make a remark about Clara. "But there was..."

"What, Doctor?" Clara asked.

"_Something_ there," the Doctor replied. "It called itself the Beast."

She laughed. "You're taking the mickey out of me, aren't you?"

"I wish I were," the Doctor said, half to himself than to her. He then turned about, a smile on his face. "Still, it doesn't matter. I cast the Beast into the black hole and the TARDIS was safe and sound. I'm sure she'll come around at the right moment, she always does."

"If you say so, Doctor," Clara replied, shaking her head. She then sighed. "How much farther is it, to this...uh, Crickhollow?"

"At least one more night's rest," the Doctor said. "Then we should arrive at the Ferry by nightfall and arrive late in Buckland."

"The ferry?" Clara asked. "Buckleberry Ferry, right?"

"You know of the ferry?" Pippin asked.

"Of course!" she exclaimed.

"Still," Frodo spoke up. "If what you have said, Doctor, is true, and those Black Riders are indeed servants of the Enemy, then we're going far too slow."

"Yeah?" Clara retorted. "You try running with blood pouring out of your..."

"I have an idea!" the Doctor exclaimed. "Why don't we sing, eh? A good song helps to pass the time."

"You sing?" Clara asked.

"Well, sometimes," the Doctor admitted. "I used to play a mean recorder once." He clapped his hands. "Well? Come on, then. Somebody start something!"

"I know a bit from 'The Snowman'," Clara said. "My mum used to sing it to me, although it's been a long time since anyone's asked for it."

"What about you, hmm?" the Doctor asked, turning to the Hobbits. "Any old poems or rhymes you know?"

"Quite a few, actually!" Frodo laughed. "Dear Uncle Bilbo wrote quite a few in his time, or adapted old melodies with a few bits of verse of his own."

The Hobbits struck up a tune that Bilbo had composed about walking and home and bed. They traded verses between each other while Clara and the Doctor walked on along, with the Timelord humming along with them.

"Shh!" Clara hushed. "I think something's following us!"

Just then, they heard the sound of hooves along the East Road.

"Hide!" the Doctor shouted. "They're coming!"

"Who's coming?" Pippin asked.

"Black Riders!" the Doctor shouted.

The three Hobbits ran off the road to the right hand and hid behind the bole of a tree. Clara ran after them but found that she, being a normal-sized human, couldn't possibly squeeze in next to them. The Doctor waved for her to hide, at which she ducked behind a tree and tried to make herself as scarce as possible. Back on the road, the Doctor ducked behind a nearby tree on the opposite side, so thin he was that he could hide easily. He thought whimsically back to his fourth incarnation, all those fuzzy scarves would have made hiding in a forest behind a tree nigh impossible.

True to the Doctor's statement, the horseman that rode up the road towards them was a Black Rider. Peering out from behind the tree, the Doctor saw the black shape stooping in its saddle and began sniffing. Very carefully, the Doctor took his sonic screwdriver out of his pocket and turned the output as high as he could. His hands were trembling as he aimed the sonic screwdriver. His beady eyes looked down at his shaking hands in amazement. He had not been this fearful since he had been trapped in the pocket universe: he thought that, after the Time War, he was incapable of fear. And yet he was afraid.

"Why am I afraid?" he asked himself.

Suddenly, his right hand slapped himself across the chin and he got a stronger grip on his fear. He pressed the sonic screwdriver and the noise was heard. An unearthly screech was heard and the Doctor heard horse-hooves plodding through the thick autumn leaves near him. Slowly, he inched his way around the side of the tree and tried to keep as much distance from himself and the oncoming Black Rider as possible.

There was another loud screech, and then the sound of hooves galloping away. Once the sound became impossible for even the Doctor to perceive, he walked out from behind the tree and turned to where the other hobbits had hidden.

"Alright, you can come out now!" he announced. One by one they appeared, first Pippin, then Frodo and Sam, with Clara being the last one out.

"That was a little scary," Clara stated in a voice that didn't sound scared at all. "We should get out of here now." She turned to Pippin. "Which way is the ferry?"

"Oh, we still have some miles to go," the young hobbit said. "It's unlikely we'll reach it before tomorrow evening."

"That's not fast enough," Clara said, then turned to the Doctor. "Come on, chin-boy. I'll race you until dusk."

"But what about..." the Doctor began, but Clara had already set off on a running start. With a rolling of his eyes and a few moments to adjust his bow-tie, he set off after her, with the hobbits taking up the rear with quizzical looks on their faces. Obviously they saw the need of haste, yet none of them were in any condition to be running.

* * *

When at last the Doctor caught up with Clara, they were a long way down the road and the night was swiftly settling in upon them. She was leaning against a tree, panting and breathing heavily. Behind came the hobbits, with the Doctor, seemingly un-phased by the long run with his bicardiac system, looking first at Clara and then suspiciously at the surroundings.

"What's wrong, Doctor?" Frodo panted.

"We're not alone," he said.

Suddenly there was a loud screech and, as the hobbits looked around to see what it was, the Doctor, however, removed his sonic screwdriver. One by one the hobbits gathered about the Doctor as they could hear something rustling in the bushes. It was not the sound of hooves, though, but as though something were walking towards them.

"Just stay behind me," the Doctor whispered, then turned to the oncoming beast. "Alright, Khamul, that's as close as you're going to get!"

There was a loud screech from the shadow-clad figure, but if the Doctor moved, it was impossible to discern.

"Yes, that's right," he replied. "Someone remembers your name. I don't know if your master, the Dark Lord of Mordor, is aware of my names. The Oncoming Storm, for one. What you seek is not here, and if it were, I wouldn't let you have it."

"Surrender the Ring!" the Black Rider hissed in a cold voice that stabbed all like knives of poisoned ice.

"Ring, what ring?" the Doctor asked.

"You lie!" the Black Rider returned, drawing out a sword.

"Doctor, what's going on?" Clara asked, her voice betraying something like fear for the first time since the Doctor had met her - any incarnation of her. "This didn't happen!"

"What do you mean 'didn't happen?'" Frodo asked.

"Enough talk!" hissed the shade in the dark.

"This is your last warning!" the Doctor threatened. "I've done some horrible things, things that would make me as dangerous as your little master. Trust me, Khamul, you don't want to be my enemy."

* * *

**(AN: So I spent a good amount of time today, besides unsuccessfully looking for work, pondering on what my next move would be in this story. I'm pleased to say that I came up with something interesting as well as valid.)**

**(Thank you for the reviews. I'll try to get to as many of the points as you mentioned. As for "hobbit", that seems like a proper noun and we want "Elves" and "Dwarves" and especially "Humans" capitalized, so why not?)  
**

**(And yay for the cliff-hangar!)**


	5. A Shorter Cut to Buckland

**(AN: Interesting thing, in the time of the 10th Doctor, if he were shipped off-world or even out of commission, the TARDIS' translation circuits wouldn't work. Yet, in _Cold War_, the TARDIS leaves the Soviet sub and they still hear Russian as Cardiff-style English. [or whatever typical British accent everyone in the universe seems to speak. Do you think that's because of the translation or the British believe that, being better than everyone else in the world, naturally all the aliens speak with a British accent?])**

**(Lol, unfortunately, I have nowhere to talk in this story as, obviously, Tolkien was British and therefore it would make sense for everyone to sound British.)**

* * *

**A Shorter Cut to Buckland  
**

Suddenly, from out of seemingly everywhere, came an ethereal chorus of voices chanting softly words which sounded like either a song or a prayer. As if in response to this, the Black Rider gave a screech and then departed, fading into the shadows and made no other sound or attempt at assault. The Doctor was the first to move as a group of folk in white approached from the trees.

"Are those Elves, Mr. Frodo?" Sam spoke up from behind the Doctor.

"Yes, Sam," Frodo replied. "Those are Elves."

The lead Elf approached the Doctor, who straightened his bow-tie and waved.

"Gildor, I presume?" he asked. "Pleasure to meet you. Although you didn't have to show up just when you did: I almost had him running."

"What a fortuitous coincidence," Gildor replied.

"Unfortunately, I don't believe in coincidences," the Doctor said.

"As you have said," Gildor stated tersely, then introduced himself and the others to Frodo and the other Hobbits. Clara, meanwhile, was tip-toeing her way over to the Doctor.

"Doctor?" she asked. "What's going on? Those Elves, I don't like the way they're looking at us."

"Don't be silly," the Doctor whispered. "They're not looking at us that way, they're looking at me."

"But why you?"

"Some stupid superstition of theirs," the Doctor replied. "I'm called _Furaedhil_ in their tongue, the Lying One."

"Why is that?" Clara asked. "Doctor, why do they call you a liar?"

"Because I am," he replied with a smirk, then pressed a finger to his lips and pointed towards where Frodo and Gildor were talking.

"Frodo, son of Drogo," Gildor began. "If you would be ruled by me, you will not take this..._man_ into your company."

"Why?" Frodo asked.

"There is a great shadow over him," Gildor continued. "By his meddling, much woe has been brought upon this world. Have a care for his words, for he will attempt to deceive you by pretending to speak truthfully, yet twist your thoughts towards vain ends."

"Is he working for...well, the Enemy?" Frodo asked.

"Do they know we can hear them?" Clara whispered to the Doctor.

"Of course they don't," the Doctor said. "They think they're clever with their little Sindarin tongue, but the TARDIS translator deciphers everything they say. Just act like we can't hear them."

In that moment, Gildor cast a suspicious glance at the Doctor, who merely smiled and waved. Then he turned to his fellows.

"Speak no secrets, my friends," he said. "Here is one, Frodo son of Drogo, who is learned in the elder tongue."

"That's what they think!" Clara said smugly to the Doctor, who merely smiled in reply.

"Excuse me," the Doctor suddenly spoke up, walking towards the Elves. "If you don't mind, we were doing just as fine without you. Now if you'll please be a dear, run along. As I was understanding, you and your little party were off chasing a dream on the high seas."

"We are returning to our home in the West," Gildor replied.

"You mean the one that sank beneath the seas and doesn't really exist?" the Doctor asked. "I've been out beyond the sea, there's no Valinor there. Nothing, just another world to be conquered. And your elvish superiority is bollocks. After Sauron's defeated, you all die off within two thousand years and the wise ones of the race of Men will point and laugh at you, call you a fairy tale, a children's story."

"You certainly seem to have a hopeful outlook on the outcome of this war," Gildor said. "It seems unlikely that any hope exists for this world."

"And so you run," the Doctor replied. "Quite noble of you, I should say."

"These are high words, coming from one who is always running," Gildor stated calmly.

"Don't even try to turn this around," the Doctor said. "I have done _nothing_ wrong!"

"Please," Frodo interjected. "This is neither the time nor the place for an argument. We've been attacked by a Black Rider, and..."

At the mention of Black Riders, all the elves became grave and serious and Gildor spoke softly to them, so much that not even Clara or the Doctor could hear what they were saying. At last, Gildor turned to the hobbits with a smile on his face.

"This news is disturbing to say the least," he said. "For that, I have requested of the others that you be allowed to join us for the evening. In the morning, perhaps stronger counsel will out." Clara noticed that Gildor was looking at the Doctor when he spoke his last words.

The Elves led the hobbits into a nearby glade, where they set a watch around while the others prepared food and drink for their guests. The Doctor stood on the outer rim of the glade, by the Watchers, while Clara stood next to him, folding her arms across her chest and shivering.

"It's cold," she muttered.

"Of course, it's autumn," the Doctor replied.

"It wasn't this cold in the movie," Clara stated.

"It never is," the Doctor added.

"Still, what was Gildor going on about you and being, well, you know..."

"Misunderstanding, not at all a matter for concern," the Doctor said.

But Clara _was_ concerned. She had seen the look on Gildor's face and heard the urgency and insistence in his tone. He, at least, believed that the Doctor was not a matter of a mere misunderstanding but something worse.

* * *

In the morning, Clara woke up in the midst of the hobbits. The Elves were gone and the Doctor was pacing about nervously. One by one they awoke along with her, until they were all stretching their arms and rubbing their eyes in the grey hours of the morning.

"Hullo Doctor!" Pippin spoke up. "What's for breakfast?"

"Unfortunately that will have to wait," the Doctor said. "The Elves are gone, I made sure they left once you fell asleep."

"I'm not sure that was prudent," Frodo said.

"Yeah," Sam added. "I would have liked to speak to them, or at least hear what they have to say, begging your pardon. I've always been fascinated with Elves, sir, despite what Ted Sandyman may say about them."

"Is everyone ready?" the Doctor asked. "We still have one long leg of our journey left before we arrive in Buckland."

For the rest of that morning and all of the afternoon, they walked on through the fields of the East Farthing. As the sun dawned upon their party, it grew hot, so much that Clara removed her jacket. The Doctor, however, always dressed for the occasion and didn't remove his jacket until it was getting on to evening, and by then it was getting cold and he merely placed it back on again.

At last, as evening was starting to fall, the Doctor and company, now following the main road, saw in the distance the smoke of a chimney billowing over a wall of stone and tall stalks of corn on their right-hand.

"What's that?" Clara asked the hobbits, as she had been mingling among them for a little portion of this march.

"I'm pretty sure we're near Farmer Maggot's house," Pippin stated.

"Can we not increase our pace?" Frodo asked. "I'd rather not be caught near Farmer Maggot's field in daylight, much less at dusk."

"Why?" Clara asked.

"Several years ago," Frodo began. "When I was living in Brandy Hall in Buckland, I...was caught by Farmer Maggot in his field."

"Why's that?" she asked again.

"Oh, Farmer Maggot's an agreeable hobbit," Pippin added. "He doesn't hold with folk stealing his mushrooms, just like any gaffer in any of the four farthings of the Shire."

"Oh, come on now," Clara chuckled. "Don't tell me you wouldn't try some."

"Why?" Pippin asked.

"Oh, but...but come on!" Clara said hesitantly. "I mean, you've got to at least _want_ to: carrots, cabbages, potatoes, mushrooms, any of that?"

"Now what reason would I have to be stealing from Farmer Maggot?" Pippin asked. "Mr. Maggot knows me well. Besides, I'm a Took, we get adventures enough as it is!" He then sent her a jaunty smile, which made her do a double take, as though she were being sassed by someone she thought was too young and immature to be treating her like a child.

"Just the same," Frodo said. "It's his dogs I worry about. When he caught me, he had his dogs chase me off the property."

"I'd like to see him try that again," Sam spoke up. "Hobbit or not, no one mistreats Mr. Frodo like that."

"Oh, please, cousin Frodo," Pippin assured. "Mr. Maggot's dogs are all bark, no bite."

"He threatened to show me their bite," Frodo added in a wary voice.

"Come along now," the Doctor spoke up.

"Doctor," Pippin replied. "We've made good time today, can't we at least have a stop for rest? I'm sure Mr. Maggot will be more than happy to let us lodge the night."

"That doesn't sit well with me," Frodo said.

"Me neither, Mr. Doctor," Sam added.

"Just Doctor," replied the Timelord.

"But Doctor who?" Pippin asked.

At this, the Doctor laughed. "I love it when that happens. Mostly just out of plain curiosity, but curiosity can be dangerous. Nevertheless, you're with me, and when you're with the Doctor, you run and you run far. We've been going too slow, we should have been in Buckland before dark."

"But we obviously won't make it now," Pippin said. "So why don't we..."

At that, there was a sudden, ear-piercing screech that split the night-air. Clara held her ears over her head while the Doctor held up his sonic screwdriver and scanned the air.

"Right, that's not good," he said, then turned to the hobbits with the flailing motions of a twelve-year-old girl. "Pippin, how far is the ferry?"

"Only a stone's throw, I'd say," he said. "But what's the rush?"

"That noise," the Doctor said. "Black Riders. And we're on the East Road, which means it might not be long before they're here." The Doctor inhaled, straightened his bow-tie, then took Clara's hand and cried "Geronimo!" before he set off into the gathering darkness, sonic screw-driver out and shining light on their path. Behind them ran the hobbits, barely able to keep up with his long strides.

* * *

**(AN: Okay, here's an interesting factoid. While this is pro-book, the Doctor will undoubtedly muck things up, mostly at the advice of Clara Oswald, who seems to be able to save the day more than the Doctor. Unfortunately, she won't know everything either. I've also created some interesting conflict between the Doctor and the Elves, hopefully I can bring that to fruition, unlike _Revenge of the Master_ and _Death's Head Epoch_. Those both started out with good ideas for conflicts but eventually those fell flat on their faces.)**


	6. The Black Rider

**(AN: My number one rule as far as _Doctor Who_ fics go is that the television shows show us the main story while a hundred other adventures could be happening in between two episodes that weren't two parters. In that sense, a practically infinite number of adventures about x-Doctor and x-companion could be written and be technically legit because of timey wimey. Hey, if Moffatt can get away with that explanation, can't I? Lol)**

**(Yes, I know that as well. Part of me wants to see John Hurt play the Doctor. I know "he's not pretty", but here is the news flash of the century: THE DOCTOR DOES NOT HAVE TO BE HANDSOME! Just because Russell T. Davies and Steven Moffatt made _Doctor Who_ into a bit of a soap opera with Nine, Ten and Eleven, that doesn't mean it has to remain that way. A return to that noble, lordly form of the old _Doctor Who_ with an older actor who would bring a new kind of lordly presence to the role might be what the series needs. I actually went back and started watching classic Who from the beginning and was wowed by William Hartnell as the First Doctor. I would welcome a new face...as long as it's not benedict c*mberbatch [-shields self under a Gondorian shield from the angry fan-girls-])  
**

**(Nevertheless, as much as I wanted to write more Ten and Donna fics, because she's my favorite companion, and more Nine and Rose fics, because there weren't enough adventures with them in the series and above-mentioned rule says I can do more [I really wanted to do the adventure Ten mentioned in "The Voyage of the Damned" where he "had the last room", presumably at Bethlehem, but that wouldn't feel right as I would write it from my disdain for the fact that, in the series, the Doctor believes and promotes that all the religions of every race in the entire universe are bogus, but the Big Bang Theory and Evolution, thought up by Earth scientists in the 19th century, like Charles Darwin, are the ultimate truth before which the whole universe must bow down in supreme reverence], with Clara and my initial reaction towards her, I found myself liking Eleven more than I did when he was with the Ponds, which of course brings us to this story.)**

* * *

**The Black Rider  
**

By the time they arrived at the Ferry, night had fallen and they were all extremely exhausted. Even the Doctor had removed his jacket, in spite of the thick fog and cold autumn weather. One by one they climbed into the boat, with the hobbits going on first, with Clara and the Doctor standing at the shore, exchanging glances with each other.

"What about us?" Clara asked.

"What _about_ us?" the Doctor returned.

"Well, I don't think we can fit on that little boat," Clara replied, eying the ferry.

"Then we'll swim," the Doctor said.

"Swim?" Clara asked. "Are you mental?"

"Would you rather face the Black Riders on land?" the Doctor asked.

"But why can't _they_ swim?" she asked.

"Who, the horses or the hobbits? Or the Black Riders?" the Doctor began, with the usual scatter-brained expression and flailing hand gestures typical of this incarnation. "Oh, hobbits don't like the water, except maybe the odd Took, or the Brandybucks. They live in Buckland, some of them make boats. Though the Stoors made boats several hundred years ago: yeah, that's not important. The horses can't swim, they're not bred to swim. Seriously, there's no water in Rohan, unless you count the Isen River, but there's a ford, so they don't need to swim it. And the Wetwang, but they never go east, they're not at war with Mordor, not yet."

"Rohan?" Clara asked. "Their horses are from Rohan? I thought they were from Mordor."

"No, of course they're not from Mordor!" the Doctor said, slapping his forehead. "The armies of Mordor have always been lacking in cavalry, that's the one advantage the Elves and Men have had on them. But they stole horses from Rohan a few years ago, only the black ones, and gave them to the Ringwraiths for their mounts. Of course Sauron would steal the best horses in all of Middle Earth, wouldn't want the slow, bulky ones from the Northern Wastes in Rhun. They're only for burdens and carrying men in heavy armor or heavily armed chariots."

"Doctor..." Clara spoke up, looking now back towards the road.

"There are some horses in Harad, but they're rather short," the Doctor rambled on. "High on speed, low on endurance. Not very useful in a cross-country manhunt, or hobbit-hunt as the case may be."

"Doctor..." Clara continued.

"The Variags don't use horses either," the Doctor said with a scowl. "Nasty folk, them. More like the Corsairs of Umbar or the Black Numenoreans, folk of near Numenorean blood who fell into darkness. Just proves that their Edain master race is just a load of bollocks."

"Doctor, turn around!" Clara exclaimed.

To their alarm, the sound of hooves behind them was heard. The Doctor turned around, whipping out his sonic screwdriver and with Clara at his side, prepared to meet the oncoming rider. Still enveloped he was in the mist that, for the present, all they could hear were the gentle clip-clop of hooves upon the cobblestone road. Yet still, as the rider slowly approached them, they could see nothing through the mist.

"Alright now," the Doctor announced. "That's close enough."

Just then they heard a muffled voice in similar accent to Frodo and Sam's speak out from the mist. "Hullo, who's there?"

"What?" Clara asked in disbelief.

Out of the mist there rode a pony with a short figure sitting atop it, his face wrapped in a cloak. As the Timelord and his Impossible Girl looked on in surprise, the hooded figure removed his hood and revealed a silhouette of curly hobbit hair.

"Big Folk!" the hobbit exclaimed. "Well, as you seem to be on the East Road, I would like to know if you've seen Mr. Frodo Baggins, he should be coming this way."

"Perhaps," the Doctor said, lowering his sonic screwdriver only a bit. "But what does it matter to you?"

"Why, I'm his cousin," the hobbit said. "Meriadoc Brandybuck is my name."

"What are you doing out here at dark?" Clara asked.

"I should be asking you that as well," Meriadoc replied. "Out here, folk aren't as trusting as they are back in Hobbiton. Too close to the Brandywine River and the Old Forest. Now if you don't know anything about Baggins..."

"Wait a minute, wait!" the Doctor spoke up. "We never said we don't know anything about Frodo."

"Well do you or don't you?" Meriadoc asked. "He should have arrived at Crickhollow earlier today, but there's been no sight of him. Fatty, that is Fredegar Bolger, told me to wait for him, but I was growing tired of it and thought I'd go out and find him on the Road."

"We've just sent him over the river on the Ferry," the Doctor said.

"Well, then I shall see him in Crickhollow then," Meriadoc said cheerfully. "It's a good twenty miles from here to the Brandywine Bridge, so I might as well get going. Farewell, and thank you for your directions."

As Meriadoc was turning his pony away, a large black shape on a huge black horse came galloping out of the mist. It let out a piercing scream which sent Clara and the Doctor on their knees and knocked Meriadoc off his pony. The Doctor held out his hand towards the figure, and saw with startling alarm that his sonic screwdriver was no longer in hand. With a yelp, he groped on the ground like a blind man, searching for it in the dark. At last his fingers touched it and he brought it up, shining a light towards him. But by then, the horseman had dismounted and was slowly approaching the Doctor and Clara, like the shadow of some great beast of prey.

"Baggins is not here," the Doctor said with seriousness in his voice.

"Where is Baggins?" the shadow asked.

"Merry, get behind Clara," the Doctor said to the hobbit. The faintest sound of scurrying hobbit feet from the Doctor's left indicated that Meriadoc had done as instructed. Suddenly the Doctor heard the ringing of a sword being drawn from its sheath.

"I shall not ask again," the shadow warned. "Tell me now!"

"He ran back home," the Doctor said. "Threw it in a ditch and ran on home. Knew what was too big for him."

"You lie!" the shadow hissed.

"Rule number one, the Doctor lies," the Doctor said with a smile.

The shadow let out a hiss and then charged, sword in hand.

"Run!" the Doctor suddenly shouted.

"Where?" Merry asked.

"The bridge!" the Doctor exclaimed.

"Doctor, I'm not sure if that's a good idea," Clara said.

"Oh course it's a bad idea!" the Doctor exclaimed. "We're on foot, the Black Rider has a horse, one of the best horses in all of Middle Earth."

"That doesn't exactly sound like a good thing," Clara added.

"There's one thing we have that the Black Rider doesn't," the Doctor said.

"What's that?" Meriadoc asked.

"Me!" the Doctor exclaimed, making a sudden whip-around and aimed his sonic screwdriver into the shadow as the sound of approaching hooves was heard. A high-pitched scream was heard echoing down through the forests, which sent the horse and its Black Rider turning off and galloping on in pursuit.

"That should give us at least an hour, maybe two," the Doctor said. "Anyone up for a twenty-mile hike to the bridge?"

"No," Clara said.

"Good, me neither," the Doctor said. He then threw his sonic screwdriver into one pocket of his jacket and began unlacing his loafers.

"Doctor, what are you doing?" Clara asked.

"We'll have to swim," the Doctor replied. "Haven't you ever swam before, Clara?"

"Yeah, once or twice," she replied. "But not in a river with goodness knows how many insects and fish crawling around in it, not to mention it's most likely polluted."

"This was a different time, Clara," the Doctor said, stuffing his shoes into the pockets of his jacket. "Water was safer to drink without disinfection. Now come on, into the river with you!"

"But I can't swim!" Meriadoc piped up.

At this, the Doctor turned around and then bent down on his knees. He waved for Meriadoc to get on his back, instructing him to wrap his hands around his neck and hold on for his dear hobbit life.

"Geronimo!" cried the Doctor as he leaped into the Brandywine River with a running start. Behind him there was a shout as Clara jumped in after him and started clawing the water and kicking her feet as hard as she could. They pushed through, though there was a sturdy current around them, pushing them gently southwards. Once they were about half-way through, with the bottom long lost beneath their feet, the sound of a high-pitched screech filled the night air, making them feel as though they had leaped into a sea of freezing ice.

"What was that?" Clara asked, spitting out cold water as she tried to keep her head above the surface of the river.

"Not good," the Doctor replied. "Keep swimming!"

They pressed onward, seeing before them the dim, shadow-clad shapes of the others, having made it to the other side of the river and waiting for them. There would be no time to rest once they crossed, for, as Clara was starting to guess, the Doctor's trick with the sonic screwdriver hadn't done much to delay the pursuit of the Black Rider.

* * *

**(AN: Short and sweet, hope you enjoyed it. The next chapter will change a little of the story at Clara's insistence, but we will see just what kind of consequences her insistence holds. Also, I like writing when the Doctor [any Doctor] starts rambling, because then I can wax verbose and it will be totally okay. As for what I said about the Variags of Khand, that is part of my Tolkien 'fanon'. In my mind, Variags are closer to Men of the West, descendants of those Gondorians who once inhabited Umbar but fled farther east rather than be assimilated into the "weak" race of the Corsairs or the "weaker" Haradrim. They established their rule in the fertile lands east of Haradwaith and just south of the mountains of Mordor, where they eat their own young, worship Sauron and his orcs and pretty much are all around evil. Unlike the rest of the "Men of Darkness", I made them an intentional satire of the Norwegian black metal scene, many of which adopted and ripped off from Tolkien even though he despised the nazi movement. Yeah, you probably think that's weak, but I thought that an overly Japanese side [like the Table-top _Lord of the Rings_ RPG] would be just as weak as well and an obvious racial slight. I don't think the Black Numenoreans get enough attention as they are the "Men of the West" who fell to evil, so I moved in the wiggle room and gave my insight to who and what the Variags are.)**


	7. Riddles in the Dark

**(AN: One of the biggest complaints from the _Lord of the Rings_ "fans" [you know who you are] is that a certain jolly woodland fellow is useless because Ralph Bakshi, Brian Sibley and Peter Jackson thought he shouldn't exist. Well, he _does_ serve a purpose, albeit a small one, but a very important one_. _You shall see why in this story.)**

**(For those who may not know, Brian Sibley was the one who adapted _Lord of the Rings_ for airplay for the BBC in 1981. It is, in my mind, the best pre-Peter Jackson adaption of _Lord of the Rings_. Period. Oh yes, and thank you for the reviews. As far as Clara goes, I think she's way too over-powered in the actual canonical television series [hence the euphemism I had for her once upon a time: "Mary Sue Dalek."]. Now, while I was thoroughly satisfied with Mr. Moffat's explanation for her in "The Name of the Doctor", this story, which takes place before that, while trying not to ruin her character, will make her seem like she knows what she's doing...when she probably doesn't.)**

* * *

**Riddles in the Dark  
**

On the eastern shore of the Brandywine River, two soaked figure sploshed ashore on their hands and knees. Meriadoc Brandybuck toppled off the Doctor's back and the other hobbits ran to their side. As Clara and the Doctor arose, she began wringing out her jacket while he removed his and began trying to drain the water out of his pockets: a daunting feat, since each one was so much larger on the inside, they had practically liters upon liters of river water in each.

"Merry!" Frodo exclaimed. "What are you doing here?"

"I went out in search of you, Frodo," the soaked hobbit replied. "You hadn't showed up and Fatty and I were getting worried."

"With good reason," Clara said, looking back across the river.

"What was that?" Merry asked. "I've never heard of Big Folk like this kind."

"Doctor?" Clara asked, turning towards the Doctor. He was already on his feet and draining his pockets. Out of one came a torrent of river water, a small fish and one of his shoes. Another deposited a clump of algae, a brown paper bag thoroughly soaked, another shoe and a pair of circular spectacles. With reverent hands he picked up the glasses and examined them, his face drooping with sadness.

"Doctor, what's wrong?" Clara's voice snapped him back into reality. He dropped the glasses, stammered and then reached down onto the moist grass and picked up the brown bag.

"Look, they're still good," he said with a weak smile, throwing the bag to Clara while he dove his hand into his pockets in search of his screwdriver.

"Jelly babies?" Clara asked, having opened the bag to see what was inside.

"Why not?" the Doctor asked, remembering the time his fourth incarnation gave him a bag of jelly babies.

"Doctor, sometimes I think you never really grew up," Clara said, shaking her soaked hair, trying to remove the grasses which had been tangled therein. "You're just a little boy in a grown man's body."

"Maybe, maybe not," the Doctor said with a smile as he pulled out his sonic screwdriver. "After all, what's the fun being able to look young if you're going to act like a grown-up? In my younger days, I always regenerated into older forms. Perhaps it was because I may have wanted to appear older and more authoritative. But now that I'm old, I've gotten progressively younger. You should have seen me in my eighth incarnation, I had the best..." The Doctor then turned and saw the hobbits staring up at him.

"Can't we please be going now?" Frodo asked. "I could hear what was happening on the other side and I don't relish the idea of waiting here while that Black Rider comes after us."

"Right," the Doctor exclaimed. "Onward to Crickhollow!"

* * *

The rest of the way to Buckland was more or less uneventful. Though they were benighted, the Doctor's sonic screwdriver was able to give them enough light to make their way to the hole which Frodo had suggested. One by one, they filed in, with Clara and the Doctor bending low to mind that their heads didn't hit the ceiling. Once they were inside, the three hobbits went off to bathe while Merry went to the kitchen to see to their food. Once Frodo, Sam and Pippin arrived, clad in bath-robes and with curled hair still dripping, they sat around the table with Fredegar Bolger, the Doctor and Clara.

Once Merry arrived with food - there was plenty of food for them all, even by hobbit standards - he asked Frodo about all that had happened, and Frodo told them about their encounters with the Black Riders as well as the Doctor. Once he had finished, all eyes turned towards the Doctor, who cleared his throat.

"Right," he said, a serious look on his face. "All conspiracy aside, we all know what's after us and our highest goal should be to avoid them at all costs, never speak to them."

"But what about you?" Pippin asked. "You always speak to them?"

"Yes, well, I'm the Doctor," he said with a fond smile, thinking back to when he talked down the Dalek Emperor in his ninth incarnation. "And if there's one thing I can do, it's talk." He turned back to the others. "Right, now, anyone have any ideas?"

"Gandalf gave us a task," Frodo said. "And, while I know that it is dangerous, I know that I must do this task."

"But you can't do it alone, Mr. Frodo," Sam said. "Take those as you can trust, just like Mr. Gandalf said."

"How do I know I can trust any of you?" Frodo asked. "The three of you seemed to know what was going on since the Party." He turned to the Doctor and his companion. "And there's more about you, Doctor, than you let on." He remained in quiet thought for a moment, then nodded. "Whatever that may be, it will be for Gandalf or Elrond Half-Elven to discern, once we reach Rivendell."

"But what about these Black Riders?" Fredegar asked. "You can't expect to head east on the main road with them on your tail."

"Of course not!" Merry added. "That's why we'll make a short-cut through the Old Forest."

"Please, cousin Merry," Pippin interjected. "You know how I feel about short-cuts..."

"He's right," Frodo added. "There have been many stories about the Old Forest, none of them good. I'd rather face a Black Rider than anything in the Old Forest."

"Did he really just say that?" Clara asked the Doctor.

"It's because he's not yet aware of the danger he faces," the Doctor whispered.

"And by the way..." Fredegar continued.

"Oh, no one in Buckland believes those rumors about wolves and spiders in the Old Forest," Merry said. "It's certainly queer there, especially after dark. But some of us Brandybucks have gone into the Old Forest and have come back out. We don't live there, but it would certainly help shaking these Black Riders off our trail."

"Excuse me," the Doctor spoke up. "Just a second here. There is something I should say first and, being the eldest, I should say something."

"Eldest?" Frodo asked.

"Well, of course," the Doctor said. "Over a thousand years old." He then continued, as though he had just mentioned the condition of the weather. "Now, if you will take my advice, you'd listen to Fredegar and bypass the Forest all-together. There is an evil lurking in the depths of the Old Forest that must never be awakened."

"What?" Frodo asked with a laugh. "Evil?"

"This _is_ still the Shire," Merry added. "Queer, maybe, but hardly anything evil."

"You still don't listen, do you?" the Doctor asked. "The Shire's hardly a safe haven, not anymore. Those Black Riders have driven off those who kept it safe for the past millennium. Have you even heard of the Barrow-downs?"

"Of course," Pippin said. "But nobody believes those tales about old bones stirring on the North Downs."

"That's the least of your worries," the Doctor said. "Your best option is to stay out of the Old Forest."

"But what about the Black Riders?" Sam asked.

"I'm with you," the Doctor said with a confident smile. "You have nothing to worry about. Now, we've all had quite an ordeal today. So off to bed with you, go on. Don't worry, I'll clean up the mess and keep watch."

Reluctantly, the hobbits made their way to their rooms, while the Doctor began gathering their plates with Clara buzzing about him.

"What?" he asked, as he saw in the corner of his eye a smile across Clara's face.

"Never thought of you as a cleaning lady, Doctor," Clara replied.

"I'm not a cleaning lady," he replied. "I once spent a year with some friends of mine doing absolutely nothing. Yes, we did nothing, we waited for this little black box to do something, they were all over the earth at that time."

"Are you talking about 2011?" Clara asked. "I remember that. I was on holiday when the boxes appeared." She paused for a moment, her hand moving instinctively above her chest where her sat her heart.

"I became quite skilled at keeping house," the Doctor continued on, a twinge of sadness in his voice. "You'd be surprised how much mess a man and a woman can make on their own. And I thought exile was bad!"

"Doctor," Clara interjected. "What is this about the Old Forest? I don't remember an Old Forest."

"Really?" the Doctor asked. "It was in the movie."

"When?" he asked.

"Merry and Pippin at the eaves of..." the Doctor began, then his right hand slapped himself across his chin. "No, wait! What am I saying? They cut it out of the story, but it really was there. The Old Forest, a huorn-wood in the very Shire."

"Hornwood?" Clara asked.

"Huorn-wood," the Doctor corrected. "Huorns, they're a kind of wild-life here, semi-sentient. Made of wood, not exactly anything I can do to help against one of those. They look like any common tree, which is what makes the Old Forest so dangerous."

"Was that the evil you spoke of?" Clara asked. "The huorns?"

"No," the Doctor said, pausing for a moment. "Something much worse."

* * *

It was long past midnight, the Doctor had long since cleaned up the mess and was now regaling Clara with the tales of the many adventures he had been on throughout his many lives. He told of his adventure on Skaro in the ancient past as though Sara Jane, Harry Sullivan and himself were government agents on a secret mission of the utmost importance. When he spoke of when he stopped the Master in America at the turn of the millennium, he painted the story as though it were a great work of art and he the Thomas Cole of the universe. By the time, however, he had finally gotten to the time he and Martha Jones had been trapped in the middle of a planetary war on the other side of the universe in the 41st century, he realized that she had fallen asleep.

_Humans_, he thought fondly, his mind still fresh from the billions of memories he had accumulated over his many long lives. _Like flickering, sputtering stars, who burn for a moment and are snuffed out, yet their light is brighter than the trio of Orion's Belt._

For a moment, wrapped as he was in the fond memories of companions long gone, he forgot all about Clara's oddities. As she sat there, slouched forward on the table in her slumber, she did not look like the girl in the Dalek asylum - though he had never truly seen her - nor did she look like the Victorian nanny: she looked clearly and plainly human.

Suddenly she snapped awake, eyes wide open. Her head spun around, looking behind her towards the door. The Doctor cast his eyes thither and noticed that someone had left the door unlocked.

"Not good," he muttered, as he made his way across the hallway to the round door and sealed it shut, locking the door and increasing the fortitude of the metal locks with his sonic screwdriver.

"Doctor," Clara spoke up. "Did you happen to see anyone out there before you closed the door?"

"No, not really," the Doctor replied.

"That's funny," she said. "Because I thought I saw something, or someone, standing in the doorway. But when I turned to look at it, it was gone."

"What was it?" the Doctor asked.

"It doesn't matter," she replied.

"No, it _does_ matter," the Doctor retorted. "This is Buckland, not Hobbiton. They lock their doors at night, because they, even in their hobbit naivete, know the dangers of the Old Forest and other things their silly little bounders can't keep out. Now tell me, was it a Black Rider? What was it?"

"I don't know," she shook her head. "It almost looked like..."

"Like what?" the Doctor asked.

"No," she shook her head. "It couldn't be." She moved her hand over her mouth as a king-sized yawn of sleep came over her. "N-Now I'm going back to sleep, Doctor. Wake me up when we're ready to go."

She lay her head back on the table and fell fast asleep. The Doctor, meanwhile, was not wholly convinced. Running to the door, he decreased the metal lock's resistance, then pulled it free, swung the door back on its hinge and crouched down as he poked his head out of the hole. He looked this way and that, but there was nothing to be seen. For a moment, however, he thought he saw two shapes covered in shadow vanishing into the darkness of the Old Forest. His ears could not detect the sound of hoofs or neighing horses. At last, as he closed the door and sealed it off again, he had to concede that whatever Clara had seen was gone for good.

* * *

When the morning finally came, Frodo awoke to find the others were already up and gathering their supplies with them for the journey. Sam, who was the first one up, told of how the Doctor had been awake all night and made them breakfast, despite his insistence that that was _his_ job, and began waking them up one by one.

"You shouldn't have let me sleep in, Sam," Frodo said. "I would have liked to be on my way sooner."

"I'm sorry, Mr. Frodo," Samwise replied. "But Mr. Doctor said otherwise."

"Just the Doctor, Samwise!" the voice of the Doctor called back.

"Alright, now," the Doctor said as he walked in, running his hands through his hair. "We're almost ready to depart, just waiting on you, Frodo. If all goes well, we should be in Bree by mid-afternoon."

"May we at least have breakfast?" Frodo asked.

"We've already had it, dear cousin Frodo," Pippin stated. "You've been asleep for quite a long time, we've all eaten. The Doctor even managed to convince Sam to eat before you had arisen."

"Don't worry, though," the Doctor said. "Even with a late start, I've made sure that we can leave on time, get to Bree and hunker down at the Prancing Pony before we're spotted on the East Road. We even have time for a late breakfast for Mr. Frodo. Oh, by the way, I've brought a spare pocket handkerchief, just in case."

Frodo smiled. "I don't think I'll be needing one."

* * *

**(AN: This chapter gets published after the BBC announced the Twelfth Doctor. I was surprised, because I didn't think they would choose someone like Peter Capaldi, but I won't complain. He might just turn the series around, bringing it back to the form of the classic _Doctor Who_.)**

**(The chapter title, obviously, is from _The Hobbit_ and not _Lord of the Rings_, but it will be important. Also, there have been speculations that "the evil lurking in the Old Forest" is the Witch-King. I don't believe that, I think it's more plausible to believe that it's Eru-Illuvatar than the Witch-King: which, of course, the Doctor thinks is evil since he's killed more gods than Captain Kirk! Yes, of course I'm talking about Bombadil!)  
**


	8. At the Sign of the Prancing Pony

**(AN: This chapter took a while to get out, mostly cuz I've been focusing on _The Dragonborn and the Lioness_, but I thought I'd give it a break and let you loving readers/reviewers have a new update.)**

* * *

**At the Sign of the Prancing Pony**

The town of Bree was hardly as menacing or dark as Clara had remembered it from the films. In fact, as they were arriving there in the daylight, it seemed rather merry, especially with several hobbit holes dotting the lands beyond the gate. These were not closed during the day, which meant they did not have to endure the watchful eyes of Harry Goatleaf, the gatekeeper.

"He's in league with some terrible men in Bree," the Doctor said. "Not very nice, not at all."

"What's wrong with the Bree-folk?" Merry asked. "From all accounts, they seem rather welcoming, if queer and such. There's even hobbit families who live here."

"Yes, but this is still not the Shire," the Doctor added. "Some of these men aren't from Bree at all, they've come up the Greenway from the South, possibly Dunland. Goatleaf is certainly from Bree, but that doesn't make him above suspicion. Right, we're all going to the inn, spend the night and then be on our way."

"Wait, I thought we were waiting for Gandalf," Clara spoke up. The Doctor shushed her, then pulled her aside, his arm around her shoulder.

"Gandalf's running a bit late," the Doctor said. "But don't tell him I said that. He's got a nasty temper, doesn't like being called 'late.' Probably got it from me. Never know why, I don't mind being fashionably late."

"So what, are we going all the way to Rivendell?"

"Of course," the Doctor replied, patting her cheek. "Well done, Clara." In response, she slapped him across his protruding chin. "And what was that for?"

"For talking down to me," she replied with sass. "I'm not a child."

"Everyone's a child to me," the Doctor replied. "I don't mean that as an insult. A...term of endearment, that's it!" He turned back to the others. "Right, when we go into the inn, mind your Ps and Qs."

"I was just about to say that," Merry spoke up. "This isn't the Shire, after all."

"Well, there's Hobbit-folk here," Samwise added. "I thought maybe we could stay with them. Be a little more home-like, wouldn't you say?"

"Or maybe we could find you a nice tater patch, Sam," Pippin said. "That would be _very_ home-like for you."

"No, no, the inn's fine," the Doctor said. "Highly recommended. Just remember, we're not in the Shire and not everyone here can be trusted. If any name must be given, don't use your right name."

"I remember," Frodo spoke up. "Gandalf gave me a traveling name to go by: from here on in, I'm Mr. Underhill if any name must be given."

"Can I have a traveling name?" Clara asked.

"What's wrong with Clara?" the Doctor asked. "That's a very normal name, totally unassuming in at least nine trillion worlds in your galaxy alone."

"I don't know," Clara replied. "I just thought it'd be fun. Maybe Ellie, after my mum. Or what about Oswin? Oswin Oswald. That sounds interesting."

The Doctor bit his lip, trying not to explode from questions. To keep his attention, he turned to the Hobbits. "And if they ask for my name, just say John Smith."

"John Smith," Merry said. "Sounds very Bree-like."

"That's not a proper name," Clara said to the Doctor. "That's a name people give to someone they don't know their name."

"'What's in a name?'" the Doctor asked. "William liked that, didn't he? Ah, William."

"You met William Shakespeare?" Clara asked incredulously.

"Of course I've met William Shakespeare," the Doctor retorted. "I had a...friend, well, traveling companion. Martha Jones. I took her to 16th century London to see William Shakespeare in the flesh. We learned out why the Globe caught fire. I'll have to tell you that later." He spun on his heel around to the Hobbits. "Right, everything ready? Yes, good. On we go!"

Leading the pack with his long stride, he made his way towards one of the buildings on the side of the main street. It bore a large wooden sign with a fat white pony upon it.

"Ah, there it is!" the Doctor exclaimed. "The Prancing Pony inn."

The Doctor led the way into the inn and they followed on behind him. To Clara's surprise, it was well-lit with several candles and a large fire on the hearth in the common room far down the hallway. They approached the front desk, where a fat, bald man was busy with something instead of waiting for customers.

"Oi!" the Doctor spoke up. "Barliman!"

"Half a minute!" the large man replied, without even turning his face towards the newcomers. He started shouting off to someone they could not see, then a few moments later, he turned about and addressed them. "Hello there, good sir. Barliman Butterbur at your service. What can I do for you?"

"Rooms for six," the Doctor said, pointing down beneath the counter. Butterbur leaned in and saw the four Hobbits.

"Oh, now that's a bit of a problem," Butterbur mused. "As it turns out, the only rooms we have available are Hobbit rooms."

"Oh, that's not a problem," the Doctor added. "I never sleep."

"Now that's right queer indeed," Butterbur said to himself. "Oh, but I'm driven half off my feet these days with all these newcomers coming up the Greenway." He laughed. "Anyway, may I have your names so I can introduce you to the others in the common room?"

"John Smith," the Doctor said. He then turned to Clara.

"Ellie," she said. "Ellie Oswald."

"Merry Brandybuck."

"Pippin Took."

"Sam Gamgee."

"My name is Mr. Underhill," Frodo spoke up.

"Underhill, now what does that remind me of?" Butterbur asked himself, stroking the bald spot on his head. "Oh, begging your pardon. I'm run off my feet with customers and one thing drives another out of me mind. Right this way, then."

"Excuse me?" Clara spoke up. "Can you tell Gandalf that we've arrived?" The Doctor shushed Clara, but she slapped away his hand from off his lips.

"Oh, there it's gone again!" Butterbur exclaimed. "I...oh, wait, no it ain't." He turned about. "Nob! Where are you, ya wooly-footed slow-coach?"

At this, a cheerful looking Hobbit came bounding down the hall.

"Show these customers to the common room double quick," Butterbur said. "I've got a bit of mending to do, if you'll beg my pardon. Now get to it!"

"Yes sir, Mr. Butterbur!" Nob exclaimed happily, then turned to the Doctor and the others and led them down the hallway into the common room.

* * *

Several minutes later had passed and the six of them were now sitting at a table. The Doctor was nibbling pensively on a sweet-roll, while Clara was going on about how ridiculous it was that they didn't have souffle on the menu. The Hobbits were drinking and eating rather quietly and seemed to be much at ease, which made the Doctor nervous.

"...and I assume they must have chickens here," Clara continued. "Mustn't be too difficult getting a hold of..." She turned to the Doctor. "Doctor? Is everything alright?"

The Doctor said nothing.

"Alright, starting to scare me a bit now," Clara said. "Well, you were all smiles and talk when we entered the inn, and now you've just fallen silent all of the sudden."

"It's because we're being watched," the Doctor hissed.

"Who?" Clara whispered back, but then saw that the Doctor had turned to the direction of the Hobbits.

"Well then," Merry said. "I'm of a mind to go for a little stroll."

"Bad idea," the Doctor stated.

"Just to stretch my legs a wee bit," Merry stated. "Get a whiff of fresh air."

"Usually a good idea," the Doctor added, gesturing towards Merry with both hands. "This time, not so much."

"But surely we've thrown off pursuit by now," Merry said.

"You wanna bet?" Clara asked, though her tone was more adventurous than sarcastic or fearful.

"Still, not much for socializing, not right now at least," Merry added. "More in the mood for walking."

"Well, I'm in the mood for some socializing," Pippin spoke up. "There are some Hobbit folk here who might enjoy a little news from the Shire."

"Also a bad idea," the Doctor stated.

"Is everything a bad idea to you?" Pippin asked.

"Not everything," the Doctor said. "Eating bananas is a good idea, but then again, you wouldn't know what a banana is, then, would you?"

"Excuse me?" Clara turned about and saw the Hobbit Nob standing at their table.

"Sorry to bother you," he said. "But Mr. Butterbur asked me to tell you that he would like to have a word with Mr. Underhill in private."

"Me?" Frodo asked, a look of concern on his face. He looked across at the Doctor, who winked at him with a casual smile. "Yes, I'll be there shortly."

"Not without me," Sam said, rising from his seat.

"Wait, how come he gets to leave but I can't?" Merry asked.

"I'll be going with him," the Doctor said. "Nothing will go wrong." He winked at Clara.

"What about me?" she asked.

"Stay here and watch out for those two," the Doctor pointed knowingly at Merry and Pippin. "And you two, mind your Ps and Qs. Not everyone in Bree can be trusted."

* * *

**(AN: I gave some credibility to Clara, since she's been doing a whole lot of just being annoying throughout this story [believe me, she'll once again do the Clara thing and save the day at the end of this story]. Sorry it's taken so long to update, but I've been thrust into a grueling and unpleasant college environment and am sick as well, and I've been devoting most of my time to _The Dragonborn and the Lioness_ [hence the reference to sweet-rolls, as I don't know if they had jammy-dodgers in Middle Earth])**

**(I know I've probably already said it, but I'm glad that Peter Capaldi is the 12th Doctor. Too bad he won't be like Malcolm Tucker, though: could you imagine the Doctor cursing out the Daleks or the Cybermen or the Master? So hilarious!)**


	9. The Doctor and the Ranger

**(AN: I'm glad for the reviews I've been getting for this chapter. I'll definitely be drawing it out, though not to the hideously long extent to which I've taken _The Dragonborn and the Lioness_ [which is where I've been putting all of my energy into every time I write]. But no, I need a break from that and so I thought I'd give you dedicated readers something new.)**

* * *

**The Doctor and the Ranger**

Clara had to fight to keep up with the Doctor's long strides as he bounded down the hallway after Frodo, Sam and Mr. Butterbur. They made their way to a deserted hallway, where Mr. Butterbur closed the door once they were inside and produced from his apron a letter and handed it to Frodo.

"I do hope there's no harm done, Mr. U..., well, you know," Barliman Butterbur chuckled uneasily. "Though I daresay this is far too late. I suspect old Gandalf will roast me alive, just like he promised, or turn me into a block o' wood."

"Oh, he doesn't mean that," the Doctor interjected reassuringly. "I know wizards, I am one. Subtle and quick to anger they are, except me. Come on, now, Frodo. Let's see what the letter says."

"I don't remember a letter," Clara said to the Doctor.

"Did you say Gandalf?" Frodo asked.

"Yes sir," Butterbur replied. "Three months back he walked right into my room without a knock. 'Barley,' says he, 'I'm off in the morning. Will you do something for me?' 'You've only to name it', says I. 'I'm in a hurry', says he, 'and I've no time myself, but I want a message took to the Shire. Have you anyone you can send and trust to go?' Says I, 'I can find someone. Tomorrow, maybe, or the day after.' 'Make it tomorrow', says Gandalf, and then he gave me that letter."

Clara looked down at the letter in Frodo's hands. It was addressed _Mr. Frodo Baggins, Bag End, Hobbiton in the Shire_.

"You had better explain why you never sent this," Frodo said to Barliman.

"Ah, then your right name is Baggins, I take it?" Barliman asked. But one quick look from the Doctor snapped him back to Frodo's question. "Oh, please, Mr. Baggins, don't think I kept it back a-purpose. I put it by safe, but then I couldn't find nobody willing to go to the Shire next day nor the day after and none of my own folk were to spare. And then one thing after another drove it out of my mind: I'm that busy. If there's anything I can do to set matters right, you've only to name it."

"We'll think about it," the Doctor said. "Go on, Frodo, read the letter."

Frodo opened up the envelope and unfurled the letter.

_The Prancing Pony, Bree. Midyear's Day, Shire Year 1418._

_Dear Frodo,  
_

_Bad news has reached me here. I must go off at once. You had better leave Bag End soon and get out of the Shire before the end of July at latest. I will return as soon as I can; and I will follow you, if I find that you are gone. Leave a message for me here, if you pass through Bree. You can trust the landlord (Butterbur). You may meet a friend of mine on the Road: a Man, lean, dark, tall, by some called Strider. He knows our business and will help you. Make for Rivendell. There I hope we may meet again. If I do not come, Elrond will advise you._

_Yours in haste,_

_Gandalf_

_PS - Make sure that it is the real Strider. There are many strange men on the roads. His true name is Aragorn._

Suddenly there was a knock at the door.

"Everyone seems to want a word," Clara whispered to the Doctor.

"Who's there?" Butterbur asked.

"It's Strider," a man's voice called from the other end.

"Well, Mr. U...uh, Baggins?" Barliman whispered. "What should we do? If Mr. Gandalf hadn't mentioned him in that note of yours, I would ask you not to associate with that one. Dangerous he is."

"And so am I," the Doctor said. "Dangerous in my own way, but thankfully I am on your side." He looked at Frodo. "You have nothing to fear from him. Even if you did, I'm here! So let's let him in, then." The Doctor ran to the door and threw it open. What Clara saw was someone who threw out of her mind all memory of the films she had seen. The ranger was tall, standing at eye level with the Doctor, which was not an easy thing to do considering how tall he was. He was lean and clad in heavily weathered clothes, with a hood cast down over his face and heavy boots of leather caked with mud. On his belt was a sheath and a sword's hilt sat within it.

"I must speak to Mr. Underhill, Barliman," Strider said.

"Why?" Frodo asked.

"I wish to have a few words with him in private," Strider replied. "He may hear somethings to his advantage."

"I'm listening," Frodo said.

"In private," Strider insisted.

"Anything you can say in front of Frodo," the Doctor said. "You can say in front of me."

"Ah, well met again, _mellon_," Strider said to the Doctor. "It's been a long time since Mirkwood, hasn't it?"

"It has indeed," the Doctor said. "Did you ever find him?"

"That I did, much to my dismay," Strider replied. "But I delivered him to Gandalf who then released him into the care of the Elves."

"Are you talking about Gollum?" Frodo asked. "I remember Gandalf talking about a friend of his named Aragorn before he left. Is that..."

"You know my name?" Strider-Aragorn asked in surprise. Frodo held up the letter, which the ranger examined, then chuckled.

"Oh, he would put that in there, wouldn't he?" he said in a voice that seemed out of place for one so hardened: fond it was, as though speaking of a worthy old friend who was dear to his heart. "Truth be told, Mr. Baggins, I didn't know about this letter. I was fearful that I would have to convince you without proof, and my looks are against me."

"Oh, I wouldn't say that," Clara said. "Maybe if you showered every once in a while."

"I see," Frodo replied. "Although, you did say that what you said would be to my advantage."

"Aye," Aragorn said. "But it will cost you. No more than you can afford, though. Simply let me accompany you until I wish to leave."

"I will consider this," Frodo replied. "Now, tell me what you know."

"Too much," Strider said grimly. "Too many dark things. But as for your business..." He walked over to the windows and sealed them, then removed his hood. "...I know a little concerning it. Thankfully you've kept quiet about what you carry, but we cannot count on that. Black horsemen have passed through Bree."

"The Black Riders?" Clara asked. "They've reached here first?"

"Well, of course they would, they're on horseback and we're on foot," the Doctor added.

"Doctor?" Frodo turned to them. "What do you think?"

"Oh, he's fine," the Doctor dismissed with a wave of his hand. "He can come with us."

"Just like that?" Frodo asked with surprise. "I would much sooner know a little bit more about him."

"That's wise thinking, but in this case, he can be trusted," the Doctor returned. "If Gandalf says so, it is so."

"All the same, Mr. Doctor sir," Barliman Butterbur interjected. "I don't feel right having Mr. U...uh, Baggins going off into the wilds alone with Strider."

"Relax, Barley," the Doctor said with a smile. "If all else fails, I'm with them. What else could go wrong?"

"Famous last words," Clara muttered.

"Now, shall we find the others and leave right now?" the Doctor asked.

"Not at night," Aragorn spoke up. "The horsemen will be watching the roads at night."

"Wait a minute," Clara asked. "Didn't Merry say something about walking the streets of Bree for a little fresh air?"

Both the Doctor and the Ranger lunged for the door.

* * *

**(AN: Even the reviews for _The Dragonborn and the Lioness_ were calling for updates on this story. Well, here you go!)**

**(Two of my hardest challenges in this chapter were to work in their departure without Pippin talking, and cutting out my favorite part of Gandalf's letter [PS - do NOT use It again!]. Obviously, since they did not stop by Tom Bombadil, Frodo did not use It.)**


	10. A Knife in the Dark

**(AN: As much as I love reviews, don't tell me to lay off _The Dragonborn and the Lioness_. It's almost 100 chapters long, I've poured so much thought and research into it, it wouldn't be lying to say that it is an epic and it deserves to be finished! And please don't diss _Skyrim_, it's an amazing part of the _Elder Scrolls_ series and the Dwemer prove the Doctor's philosophy of "killing God makes everything better" wrong. They're a "free thinking" and "intellectually advanced" race, yet they believe in slavery, racism and genocide. That's one of the reasons I wanted to go ahead with _The Doctor in Tamriel_, to see what he would do if faced with the Dwemer. Personally, I think he'd try to cover it up and tell Clara to never mention it again that his philosophy is flawed, just like people do in real life. I'd want him to be personally responsible for the disappearance of the Dwemer, but if he really just lets them explore the stars [like my brother and a lot of other _Elder Scrolls_ fans believe happened to the Dwemer when they disappeared], then he's done wrong in that he's let a technologically superior war-like and racial-supremacist race free to terrorize their part of space [you know, like the Daleks]. But if he destroys them all [as I think is what happened when they uncovered the Heart of Lorkhan], then he's done exactly as with the Timelords, broken his whole anti-genocide statement ["look up genocide in the dictionary. there's a picture of me that says 'over my dead body'"], and of course the fan-girls would be upset because the Doctor committed genocide, even though he _did_ commit double genocide in the Last Time War with the Timelords and the Daleks, but apparently that was warranted.)  
**

**(You know, sometimes I wish I were a writer on _Doctor Who_, because I just came up with a really interesting and morally complex story for a _Doctor Who_ cross-over, not just "companion loves the Doctor, TARDIS is jealous, The Doctor has feels, Isn't he quirky?" And I bet I could do more too! But then again, seeing how he snubbed the 8th Doctor, Mr. Moffat probably hates Americans and anything to do with them, which is why he made it that the Doctor can never return there ["The Angels Take Manhattan"] :p Now at the risk of sounding hypocritical, I _am_ building up something in this story, one which may have Clara question [again, since _The Doctor in Tamriel_ has already happened in my Who fanon timeline] whether the Doctor always knows best. Everything so far has been either fan-service or tackling the nitpickers of Tolkien's epic, but I think I can get all of them in this story [it's just going to probably take more than thirty chapters, lol])**

* * *

**A Knife in the Dark**

"Help!" Merry groaned. "I've fallen into cold water!"

So it was when the Doctor, Clara and Aragorn found him, led there by Barliman Butterbur's Half-ling underling Nob, who had found him in a dark alley. Frodo had asked to join them, but both Aragorn and the Doctor insisted that the best place for him right now was to stay in-doors. When they found him, he was lying on his back and muttering something about black horsemen at the gate. He looked at Aragorn in distrust for a moment until Clara and the Doctor assured him that he was on their side.

"Have they entered the town already?" Aragorn asked.

"I think so," muttered Merry.

"But what about Frodo's accident?" Clara asked.

"That hasn't happened," the Doctor replied. "That's been changed."

"But then why are they here?"

"See?" Merry said, turning to the Doctor and Clara. "This wouldn't have happened if we took my advice and went through the Old Forest."

"No, you'd just get eaten by a tree," the Doctor replied.

"That is a perilous road, Master Merry," Aragorn said. "There is much danger in the Old Forest, and just beyond lie the North Downs. Long have the Rangers kept watch on those lands, protecting the people of Buckland and Bree from foes which would freeze their very blood."

"Yes, and I kept you from going there," the Doctor added, a smile splitting his face.

"But what about the Black Riders?" Clara asked. "They're hot on our tail."

"Then we leave tonight," the Doctor said. "Those in Bree who are on their side have told them possibly where the Hobbits are staying, but they don't know yet if these have the Ring. Now, Clara, I want you to go back to the inn and get the others ready." He turned to Aragorn. "You, which direction were you planning on taking them?"

"East, but not by the main road," Aragorn replied.

"Good, can you travel fast by night?"

"Not indefinitely."

"Don't worry about light, though," the Doctor said, patting the pocket which held the sonic screwdriver. "We'll just run back to the inn, pay for our rooms, even though we never really used them, and take off into the night before anything happens which might draw attention."

* * *

They left Bree that night, the Doctor and Aragorn leading Clara and the Hobbits in the front as they passed into the darkness of the forests east of the town. They did not stop, though weariness slowly began to creep up on them as they passed beyond the hours of midnight. Both the Doctor and Aragorn urged them onward. Though they heard no cry and saw nothing behind them but the shadows of trees, all of them feared that pursuit was not far behind.

As the hour of one was approaching, Aragorn suddenly came to a halt. The Doctor turned to him and halted, while Clara finally managed to catch up to both of them.

"Need a rest?" the Doctor asked.

"I am a Ranger," Aragorn replied. "I can go many days without rest when pursuit is nigh, but I cannot find a path into the wild under a night-sky without moon or stars to guide me."

"Not even with this?" the Doctor pulled up his sonic screw-driver and pressed it on, flashing its emerald light. It flickered for a moment, then suddenly went out.

"Doctor, what's happened?" Clara asked.

"My sonic screwdriver!" the Doctor exclaimed, shaking it about in his hand. He pressed a button but it did not respond. He shook it about again and whacked it against his thigh, but nothing seemed to be working. "It can't be out of power!"

"Can't you recharge it?"

"Not without the TARDIS, I can't," the Doctor replied, stowing the malfunctioning sonic device into his pockets then turning back to Aragorn. "Well, it appears that we might be stopping for the night after all."

"It is a good thing your wand faded when it did," said the Ranger. "That bright light is sure to attract attention."

"Can they see?" Clara asked, looking both at the Doctor and Aragorn in the dark. "The Black Riders, I mean."

"They do not see as we do," Aragorn replied. "They live ever in the realm of shadow, where we are but dim and flickering shades. We are vulnerable to them in the night, which is why I agreed that we should press on. We're still far too close to Bree for my liking. But they have other means of sensing our presence."

"Such as?"

"Their horses can see," Aragorn continued. "And there are many in Bree who cannot be trusted. Furthermore, the Enemy has many spies in his service. And, of course, they are drawn to the Ring."

"What do you know of it?" Frodo spoke up, as the Hobbits now approached the three Big Folk. Frodo stood aback as he heard Aragorn speak of the Ring.

"Fear not, Frodo," Aragorn said. "I am on your side."

"How do we know?" Frodo asked. "Sam thinks you might be an imposer who's killed the real Strider and donned his clothes."

"Did he really just say that?" Clara whispered to the Doctor.

"There's more to that letter, you know!" the Doctor interjected, practically bounding in between Frodo and Aragorn.

"Really?" Clara asked. "We don't have time for reading, and in case you haven't noticed, it's dark!"

"Not to worry, Clara," the Doctor said confidently. "I think I might just have the proper thing for it." At this the Doctor lifted up his right foot and removed the bottom of his loafer.

"What, are your shoes..."

"'Bigger on the inside?'" the Doctor finished. "Clever, but not exactly. Theodore Roosevelt gave this to me during my ninth incarnation. I saved his life at the Battle of San Juan Hill, he said it was the least he could do." The Doctor then pulled something out, which none of them could see in the darkness. A few moments later, they heard the scratching sound of a flint-stone striking a rock, and then the Doctor held aloft a make-shift torch in one hand while he stowed Roosevelt's flint in one of his pockets.

"There," he said, holding the small torch up triumphantly. "That should give us a little light. Well, go on then, Frodo. Finish the letter."

In the light of the torch, Clara saw Frodo unfurl the letter and pick up from where he last left off.

"There seems to be some sort of poem written here," he said. "Do you want me to read it, Doctor?"

"Yes, please."

_All that is gold does not glitter  
Not all who wander are lost  
The old that is strong does not wither  
Deep roots are not reached by the frost_

_From the ashes a fire shall be woken  
A light from the shadows shall spring  
Renewed shall be blade that was broken  
The crown-less again shall be king_

"Didn't Arwen say that?" Clara whispered.

"No," the Doctor dismissed quietly. "Actually, it was Bilbo who wrote those words."

"How does this help us, Doctor?" Frodo asked.

In the dark there was a ring and then the light of the torch flickered across a sword-blade that seemed broken at the end. It was held in Aragorn's hand.

"Here is the Blade that was Broken," Aragorn said. "And I am Aragorn son of Arathorn: those words concern me. The Enemy seeks the Ring, Frodo, and whether by life or by death I can hinder it, I will."

"Yes, yes, _very_ good!" the Doctor exclaimed. "But, as our brave and heroic guide cannot find us a path in the dark..." He then reached up and pulled his sonic screwdriver out of his pocket, giving it a furtive look of disapproval. "...my sonic screw-driver's not working, we'll have to spend the night. So, as usual, I'll stand guard, the rest of you rest up, hmm?"

* * *

Less than three days had passed since they left Bree, but they were going as fast as ever with the Doctor in the lead. Aragorn strode at his side and, Clara noticed, they talked a lot among themselves, though she noticed that her name was rarely mentioned. Whether that was good or bad she couldn't decide. She was, more than ever, focusing entirely on keeping up with them. While her bleeding eventually subsided, they both seemed tireless.

It was the evening of the fourth night since they left Bree when they once again made camp. As usual, the Doctor kept watch since he did not need to sleep. Despite Aragorn's insistence that he could keep watch for the night, the Doctor assured him that he would be fine and that he, Aragorn, needed to get some rest.

"You will be needing all your strength for the road ahead," the Doctor said.

One by one the others drifted off to sleep, but Clara seemed unable to sleep and so tossed and turned in her little jacket. About midnight, she saw lights in the north-eastern sky like distant thunder. The Doctor was near at hand, sitting cross-legged with his eyes gazing out towards the lights.

"Doctor?" she asked. "What's that light in the distance? Is a storm coming?"

"That's another one!" the Doctor said, amused. "'They're on the move', 'He's out there somewhere', 'A storm is coming.' Such melodramatic words for the real hard truth of the seasons of war."

"Huh?"

"Oh, nothing," the Doctor replied. "Just musing about things I've witnessed in my life."

"But that light," she said. "What is that light?"

"Fire on Amon Sul," the Doctor said.

"There's fire on Amon Sul?" she asked. "Uh, this may seem like a silly question, but why is there fire on Amon Sul?"

"Because they got there ahead of us," the Doctor said. "They've attacked Crickhollow while we were fleeing through the wilderness and now they've gathered together under their dark lord. And no question is silly: questions are what make this whole universe work. My life would be rather boring without questions."

"Wait, what do you mean dark lord?" Clara asked. "I thought Sauron was..."

"Not Sauron, the _other_ Lord of the Nazgul," the Doctor said. "In life, he was Er-Murazor, a sorcerer in the ancient land of Numenor, until he received one of the Nine Rings and became chief of the Ringwraiths. After Sauron's defeat, he moved north, where he became known as the Witch-King of Angmar."

"The one that Eowyn killed?" Clara asked. "Oh, wouldn't it be fantastic to meet her? I bet we could."

"Yes, we could," the Doctor said, but his voice was now distant. He spoke as one who realized too late a critical flaw that was somehow overlooked.

"Doctor, is something wrong?" she asked again. "You said that fire means they've gotten ahead of us, with that...Witch-King bloke."

"Oh, that's no cause for alarm, not yet at least," the Doctor replied. "Because someone else got there first, someone who's giving them hell for all of us."

"Who?"

"Not me, Gandalf."

* * *

In the morning they set off again, making steadily north-eastward. After three more days of seemingly endless trekking, the land opened up around them and they saw that they were on a large plain of rolling hills, dotted with old ruins long stripped of any inclination of who owned them before they fell into such ruinous decay. On the top of one of the hills was a ruined tower. Far behind them was the East Road, winding along its path towards where the plains slowly began to fade into forest.

"There it is," the Doctor said. "Amon Sul in the Elvish tongue, or Weathertop to me and you."

"You know this land very well, Doctor," Aragorn said. "Perhaps I should defer to you regarding our next move."

"Nonsense," the Doctor laughed. "You're a..." But the Ranger gave the Doctor a stern look, which caused him to stop mid-sentence. "A...a...a skilled ranger, who has walked this land for many years and knows it very well. Me? I'm just the Doctor."

"Maybe we should make for that high hill," Frodo spoke up, pointing towards Weathertop. "Perhaps Gandalf is waiting for us there."

"Bad idea, Frodo," the Doctor said in an aside.

"Yeah, you should listen to him," Clara added. "_Very_ bad idea."

"Why is it a bad idea?" Frodo asked.

"It is unlikely that Gandalf is still there," Aragorn said. "Or that he ever was there. But if he was, he may have left some sign to indicate that he was there. And I have not forgotten the fire we saw on the night of the third."

"Still, this is not a good idea," the Doctor added. "Weathertop is very open. It will be easy for pursuers to mark us from the top of the hill."

"Are we still in danger?" Pippin spoke up. "I thought we had left pursuit behind in Bree."

"That is even less likely than meeting Gandalf at the top of the hill," Aragorn added. "Nevertheless, we must see if he was there."

"Then I'll go," the Doctor said. "I'm as close to a wizard as you lot have, and I've had to sneak my way into tighter spots than this."

"I'm going with you," Clara added.

"What about us, then?" Frodo asked.

"We'll make camp towards those trees," Aragorn said. "It's far too open on these plains."

The Doctor and Clara then swiftly made their way towards the high hill of Weathertop. They were about half-way there, with the hill looming up before them, when Clara finally caught up with the Doctor.

"I thought," she panted. "That Aragorn would...have us camp here...at the foot of the hill."

"Horrible idea, all from that New Zealander," the Doctor added. "Good bloke, by the way, I won't lie, but he botched this whole ordeal up entirely. No one in their right mind would camp _on_ the hill of Weathertop, seeing how it's so open to the countryside."

"But what will we...oh, bollocks!" Clara exclaimed, brushing hair from out of her face, picked up by the wind as they were nearing the hill. "What will we find up there?"

"Battle scars, nothing more," the Doctor added.

"You, Doctor, are impossible!" Clara breathed. "You've come the same way I have and..." She sighed. "...you're not even panting!"

The Doctor held his tongue, but his snickering came out as three chuckling sniffs through his nose. He quickly composed himself, thinking rather on how he would keep them from being spotted at the top. "Running is something I'm very good at doing."

They then went on up the hill-side, but they had not gone far when the Doctor suddenly stopped and turned around, coming back down towards Clara.

"Doctor, what is it?"

"We're too late," the Doctor said. "They're here, on the East Road."

"Who?"

"The Black Riders," the Doctor added.

"I thought they saw their camp-fire," Clara stated.

"Absolute rubbish," the Doctor dismissed. "They knew better than to camp on the hill, they camped in the glen, just as Aragorn had suggested."

"But what about their fire?" Clara asked. "Wouldn't that draw attention to them?"

"That was actually Aragorn's idea," the Doctor said. "And it's not that bad of an idea. The Black Riders' cloaks can get burned, and they'd be weaker without their robes."

"Then it sure is a good thing you remembered Roosevelt's flint like you did," Clara added.

"Yes, I know," the Doctor replied. "Now come, we've got to find the others before it's too late."

* * *

When they arrived at the camp, set up in a glade that dipped into a small pit surrounded by trees, they saw that the others were very much alive and well. The Doctor told Aragorn of what he had seen, and the Ranger immediately set out to gathering wood for a fire. The Doctor and Clara helped him with his search and, once the darkness began to fall, they had fire to keep them warm and to dispel the growing gloom in their hearts. For even though they saw nothing as of yet coming out at them from the dark, all of them had the distinct feeling that they were being watched from the shadows.

"Will they attack us?" Frodo asked.

"That's quite a possibility," the Doctor said. "Though I hope Clara and I left Weathertop fast enough."

"Did you see them on the road?" Merry asked.

"No, the Doctor seemed to know that they were coming," Clara replied.

"Well, what if it wasn't them?" Pippin added.

"Oh, it's them alright," the Doctor assured him, which made Pippin frown.

"Keep the fire going," Aragorn said to them. "And keep your backs to the flame. We're running low on fire-wood, I will go and get some more."

"Wait, Strider!" Frodo interjected. "Don't go!"

"You have him with you!" Aragorn said, gesturing to the Doctor. "You will be safe." With that, the Ranger turned about and vanished into the darkness.

"Wait!" Clara called out after him. "What about their weapons?"

"Weapons?" Merry asked.

"Yes, isn't he supposed to give you guys weapons or something?" she asked. "How does he expect you to defend yourselves without any weapons?"

"With me," the Doctor said triumphantly. "Swords are just like guns, only honorable and messier."

"But didn't he give them swords?" Clara asked the Doctor.

"No, they got those from somewhere else," the Doctor said. "All the more reason not to go that way. Anyone who promotes violence for whatever reason is absolute rubbish. And may I be stricken down by lightning were it otherwise."

"But the Black Riders have weapons, don't they?" Clara asked. "I don't think they're going to abide by your wishes."

"So?" the Doctor asked. "I'll die, but at least I'll have the moral high ground. Oh, if you want to wield a weapon, that's your own choice. I can't force you, I can only advise."

"Well, then, Doctor," Clara said, looking out at the lip of the bole. "I suggest you start advising us what to do, because I think I just saw a shadow move over there, between those trees."

"Around the fire, do as Strider said," the Doctor said to the Hobbits. "Clara, join them."

"What are you going to do, Doctor?"

"Talk to them."

"Talk to the shadows?" Sam asked. "Are you mad?"

"Let's hope so," the Doctor said with a confident smirk as he strode forward, stepping between the Hobbits and the darkness.

"Alright, listen up, you Nazgul!" the Doctor began. "You Black Riders, you Ringwraiths, you black-robed invisible bogey-men! I've already told you that what you seek is not here! But if you really feel like seeing for yourselves, well, unfortunately for you, I am standing in your way. And in case you don't know, I've stopped armies dead in their tracks at the very mention of my name. I make your Dark Lord Sauron seem like a school-yard bully! So ask yourselves this, are you really going to face me? Because if you are...well, here I am, come for me then!"

There was silence for a space as the wind gently howled through the trees before the Doctor. Behind him the sounds of the Hobbits breathing, soft yet fearful, rang behind him along with Clara's steady, evenly paced and unperturbed sighs of breath. Suddenly there was a voice heard from out of the darkness: high pitched which sent icy chills down their spines.

"He lies!" the voice said. "Kill the blasphemer! Kill the heathen who dares to speak the name of the Lord of Mordor!"

Five figures, hooded and cloaked in black as pitch-dark as the night around them, strode out into the flickering light of their fire. In the dark there was heard the ring of swords being drawn from their sheaths and, in the light of the camp-fire, the swords could be seen leveling at the Doctor.

"Doctor, what's going on?" Clara asked. "Why is everything so cold?"

"Just hang in there, Clara," the Doctor said. "Take a log from the fire."

"Okay," she said.

"Slowly, very slowly!" the Doctor replied.

"Surrender the Half-lings!" one of the shadows spoke.

"There's nobody else here," the Doctor said to them.

"Your lies fall on deaf ears, meddler!" hissed the darkness.

"Clara, do it! Now!" the Doctor exclaimed.

Suddenly a fiery blaze erupted as Clara waved a burning branch between the Doctor and the advancing shadows. The swords fell backwards, but then there was suddenly a loud screech and Clara fell to the ground, the burning branch flung from her hands as they scrambled to cover her ears. For what felt like the first time in her entire life - before and after she had met the Doctor - she felt fear: true, genuine, paralyzing fear that made her want to curl up into a ball, close her eyes and weep and shake until the morning came.

But then another blaze erupted as a tall figure strode towards the shadows, waving a branch at them. But this figure did not collapse before the power of their voices. In fact, the shadows began to fade and retreat back into the darkness. One by one they departed until the bole was free of them. Clara slowly lifted up her head, removing her hands from off her ears. The light of her fallen brand and the one held in the tall figure's hand revealed her rescuer to be Aragorn. She looked back at the fire and saw the four Hobbits huddled against the fire, stricken with fear. Then she saw on the ground, lying a little bit across from her the Doctor. His jacket had been pushed back and his hand was on his white pin-striped shirt, a small dark patch gathering upon it.

The Doctor had been injured during the attack of the Black Riders.

* * *

**(AN: Ugh, I hate that line "not all who wander are lost." I'm sure somebody will tie it in with _Doctor Who_, but that obviously won't be me. I had to put it in there to build up for the sword. Speaking of swords...lol, I wonder how it would sound if I went movie-verse during the Council of Elrond [I won't, btw] and had them all do the "You have my..." What would the Doctor say? "You have my...sonic screwdriver?" "You have my...banana?" or, if it were the Fourth Doctor, "You have my...jelly baby!"?)  
**

**(-sigh- Just had to throw in some silliness, since I'm obviously going straight ahead with the dramatic part of the story. Sorry this chapter took forever to come out. I have a dozen more ideas I want to flesh out more than Companions/Dawnguard/original subplot of _The Dragonborn and the Lioness_, the Doctor in Middle Earth or Tamriel and Wicked meets The Big Bang Theory, I just really didn't want to write anything. But I sucked it up and wrote something.)  
**


End file.
